Fly By Night
by LockNRoll
Summary: She cuts loose her life with the Reds and finds a new home in the Alliance as an elite agent with a terrifying reputation. One man sees through it all, and at last she understands what it is to have something you're afraid to lose. ME1-3, F!Shenko.
1. Escape

**A.N.** So this started off as a 500 word headcanon drabble that somehow evolved into this 35-chapter fanfiction, about 10 chapters of which are pretty much finished. After playing Mass Effect 3 I really wanted to tell my Shepard's story in a way that is just impossible with the constraints of a game. I thought of all the horrible things that she goes through, all the impossible deeds that are asked of her, and I thought 'what kind of person would it take to get through all of this in one piece?' So I pieced together my Shepard, and she may be short-tempered, arrogant and emotionally stunted, but I love her, and I hope you'll love her too.

For sketches and paintings of her and others, check out my deviantart _jinxiedoodle_ – there's a link from my profile.

**Timings** – this chapter takes place pre ME1, the next 20ish chapters will be in the form of flashbacks from the post-ME2 imprisonment, focusing on the development of relationships and characters and skimming over most of the story elements we already know so well. It should be pretty obvious what's what, but let me know if it ever gets unclear!

* * *

_**Fly By Night**_

**Chapter 1: Escape**

_2171 – Fifteen years before the invasion of the Reapers_

"Roll it again."

He sits in silence as the grainy footage plays, this time watching carefully for what he knows is coming. It still surprises him when a slender figure in dark clothes moves from behind a stack of crates, gun raised, and within minutes it is over. He counts the shots – twelve, a full clip. Ten bodies. She doesn't even need to reload.

The last one to die – Mr Calvern, the boss – tries to run and she shatters his kneecaps with two calculated shots. He wishes the tape had audio. As Mr Calvern drags himself back, blood trailing, he spits some words at her. She answers, and then shoots, her face hard. The picture isn't good enough quality to make out the words.

He sees her shove another clip into her gun and in one swift motion her arm arcs up and the camera goes dead. She'd seen it too late, though. This is what makes him think she can't be a professional assassin. This, and the tattoo that marks her as a member of the very gang she attacked.

The Tenth Street Reds are crippled, maybe beyond repair. In a single daring move she has wiped out the boss, five of his deputies and four high-level dealers. The police knew about the meeting – they were about to surround the place, might have actually taken them in. They hadn't seen the lone gunwoman slip past, either that or she'd been waiting inside the whole time.

He is glad they thought to tell him about her. It would be a mistake to let someone like this rot in jail.

He flicks through her file again. It's sparse. Full of sightings and question marks but very little solid information. They don't even have a name. From what they can piece together she is – _was_ – a gunslinger for Mr Calvern, the gang leader she'd shot as he crawled away.

He stands to look through the one-way mirror, to the room where she sits, unmoving and tense and defiant to the end. She'd surrendered when the police had burst in. She'd been surrounded, and if she hadn't immediately thrown her hands in the air and her gun to the floor she'd have been riddled with holes. He thinks to himself that a self-preservation instinct like that is probably the very reason her file is so sparse.

Her gaze flicks up to his face as he walks into the room, but otherwise she is still. Uninterested. He isn't the first to interrogate her, not even today, she has no reason to think he will be different from the others.

"Hello," he says to a wall of expressionless silence. She is pretty, he thinks, but hard. Her shoulders and arms are bare and adorned with a few tattoos. They tell him she is seventeen. He has a daughter that age, but the girl in front of him has dark, hollow eyes, scratches all over her body, and looks as though she's stared into hell itself. A hard life in a cruel city, he thinks.

"So, how did you do it?" he asks at last, leaning forward on the table and weaving his fingers together in thought.

"Do what?" Her tone is flippant, like a teenager in the principle's office, and he decides that this is just the cockiness that comes with having nothing left to lose.

"Ten bodies. Twelve bullets. We have the security footage." He fires up his omnitool, and a small screen just out of her line of sight shows him her vitals, stress levels, analysing her voice for exaggerations or untruths. The screen tells him she is far more anxious than she lets on. She is _seventeen_, he remembers.

She shrugs slowly, indifferently, and then looks up at him, an amused slant to her lips, "Would've been ten for ten, but—"

"You took the time to shoot Michael Calvern in both kneecaps _first_, just before you executed him," he says, watching for her reaction, "As I said, we have the security footage."

"If you have the footage then why are you asking me how I did it?" She snaps, her dark, straight brows suddenly crashing together in irritation, "Just watch the fucking _tape_."

He nods, apparently satisfied. She is very much as he was told. Not an _ideal_ candidate perhaps, but there is a spark inside her that is...salvageable. He recalls her movements, the elegant and deadly simplicity of them. He has to ask, just to make sure, "Who trained you?"

She can list a few names, she thinks. People with links to the Reds who taught her how not to be seen, to kill almost anything with her bare hands, how to weave through a crowd like a wisp of smoke. But that isn't what he means, and she knows it. Her eyes take in this man's proud bearing, the scars on his hands that said he'd seen combat. Perhaps _he_ will understand.

"You can't _train_ someone to do what I can do," she says, "If you could, he'd have trained the others just as well. I wouldn't have got close."

"And just what _is_ it that makes you so special?"

"Put a gun in my hand and find out," she replies flatly, a twist to her lips that is dangerous, arrogant, laughing in the face of impossible odds, "I'm a freak of nature. I don't have to aim, I don't have to _think_ about it. I just _know_. Always have. You can't train that shit."

He doesn't need to look at the screen to know she is genuine. He thinks back to the footage of the girl in front of him as she appears from the shadows, moving so fast they have to slow down the tape to see how she tears through the assembled men as though it is _nothing_. None of them even get close to her. You can't train that kind of raw talent for killing, he thinks, all you can do is try and harness it however you can.

She doesn't look as though she'd enjoy being harnessed, though. He watches her as she leans back and rocks in her chair. Casual, as though she were in a bar and not handcuffed in a police station facing a life sentence.

No, he thinks, not a bar. She isn't even _old_ enough to drink.

"What's your name?" He asks, aware that she'd so far refused to answer.

"Lilly Calvern," she replies, and he doesn't need the little _spike_ in the line running across the screen to know that she's lying.

"'_Lilly Calvern'_ doesn't exist. Is that the alias Mr Calvern gave you when you joined the Reds?" She shrugs in response, but her vitals say 'yes'. He looks pointedly at the red 'X' tattooed on her neck, the mark that makes this case _interesting_, as though a seventeen year old girl killing ten seasoned gang members isn't interesting enough. "What's your real name?" She says nothing, stares at her hands cuffed together. "I can't help you unless you tell me."

She looks up at him, clearly doubting he can help her at all. But then, to his surprise, she tells him the truth, "Jena." Maybe she's bored of the process and just wants to know what will happen to her.

"Jena," he repeats as his omnitool zips through the millions of records of missing persons and similar. It's a common enough name, but the search comes up with nothing useful. "Do you have a _last_ name?"

"No." That isn't true, but it may as well be, and his omnitool doesn't catch her out. She stopped using it a long time ago, when the streets became her family. She still can't recall the colour of her mother's eyes, forever glazed over with a red sand storm. It didn't matter, though. She was a smart kid, even then. She knew – _knows –_ how to survive. She's been doing it all her life.

They are silent for some time. He waits for her to give something away, she answers with a defiant glare as she takes in his posture and deep, commanding voice. He doesn't look like a cop. She wonders briefly if he is military.

"I'm curious," he says finally, changing tack, "how did you know they would be in that warehouse? You chose a time and place where Mr Calvern would be more or less alone with his generals. In three minutes you effectively wiped out the leadership of your own gang. How did you know where to go?"

"I want a deal," she says, ignoring his question. "I knew about that meeting, and I can tell you about a dozen other meetings that will be taking place right now to figure out who's taking over the Reds. I can tell you who to target, what you can arrest them for, their aliases, safe havens, _all of it_. You can take down the biggest gang in the city within a week." They are the most words anyone in the station has heard her string together. He is surprised at her eloquence. Mr Calvern has invested more in her than he thought.

"And why would you want to do that?"

"For the same reason I wanted to watch Calvern beg for his life." She flexes her hands, wishing they weren't cuffed. She thinks back to the last time her hands were tied together, by fear instead of cuffs, as her boss, the man that gave her this life, tells her she is nothing without him, that he has _made_ her and that she is becoming more trouble than she's worth. A weapon, he says, shouldn't talk back. A weapon shouldn't have an opinion. That is all she is. "I want them to burn."

"What did they do to you?"

_They killed the only real friend I've ever had,_ she thinks, remembering the heavy stone that dropped in her belly when she found out, the rage and grief and frustration just _boiling_ over, her hands shaking by her sides as Calvern tells her to _get over it_. Mira was just an engineer in the Reds, sixteen, replaceable. She was _pretty_, too, and the word has an ugly implication. She should have known not to try to fight back, just _let it happen_. Then he wouldn't have had to shut her up.

It was the final straw. And when Jena broke, she _broke_. The man that did it had died first, bullet through his neck so he choked on his own thick blood as it spurted out onto the wall. Every one of them paid for the things she'd seen them do. Killing had never felt so _good_ before. With every bullet there was another stain wiped from the world. And then when she came to Calvern, the boss of it all, the one that had found her, _made _her, she watched him crawl away with naked fear in his eyes, blood trailing on the ground. He screamed at her again, that he'd given her everything, that she was nothing on her own. She'd silenced him. And in the silence, for the first time in her life, she'd felt _free_.

She looks up at the man in front of her, her face hard as stone, "First you give me what I want."

At last, he thinks, we're getting somewhere, "And what's that?"

"A new ID and a shuttle off Earth."

It isn't an uncommon request. He spreads his hands, exploring this possibility, "Anywhere in particular?"

"Omega." She hears that's the place to go for mercs and drifters and misfits. She can make it on her own there. "You'll never hear from me again."

"You killed ten people," he says simply.

"No one you wouldn't thank me for killing." She is a seventeen year old girl, and she is _staring him down_, daring him to contradict her. It is a unique experience, he thinks, one he would remember for a while.

"That doesn't change anything."

"Yes it does," she insists, her vitals spiking with adrenaline though her voice is deadly calm, "and I'm handing you the rest of them on a silver fucking platter. You might think I'm not in much of a position to bargain, but let me explain that _these_," she lifts her hands, pulls the cuffs taut, "are not stopping me from killing you. The gunmen you had surrounding the warehouse weren't stopping me from escaping. The only reason I'm in this room talking to you is because I can't take what's left of the Reds down on my own. But with the information I have, _you_ _can_."

He glances at the screen in front of him. She is very convincing, but her body knows what her mouth doesn't, and he can see she is lying, trying to intimidate him even as she sits in the middle of a police station. The last past, though, is true. She wants to take them down, that much is clear, and it is a point in her favour. There are people watching from behind the screen. The kind of people that are called in when the mystery assassin who takes out the entire top tier of a gang turns out to be a teenage girl with a greater talent for killing than any of them had ever seen. They already have an idea of what to do with her.

He pushes further, "Why?"

"Could you be a little _less_ specific?" she quips, curling her lips back in a sneer. Defensive, he thinks, but it hides her fear.

"Why develop a conscience all of a sudden?" She stiffens, and he knows he's caught her. It was the way she was adamant the people she killed _deserved_ it. That is how he knows the girl in front of him may be a killer, a criminal, ruthless and brutal, but she is not evil, not _sadisti_c. Bent but not broken.

"Do you think I _liked_ the shit they started to do?" She asks quietly, recalling how many times towards the end she'd have to swallow the bile in her throat and do what was asked. The only pleasure she took came from the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of combat, the satisfaction in seeing someone realise they'd underestimated her. Even that was soured by the end. "It was different when I first joined. It was just a way to get food and a bed."

He begins to piece it together in his head, "And then Calvern found you?"

"How do you think he got to be the boss? I was his secret weapon. His little prodigy. His _toy_," she spits the word, and for a moment she looks her age. With her at his side, he'd clawed his way to the top. That was when the Reds became unrecognisable. That was when she started to hate him for what he made her do, for the things she had to sit back and accept. "But that's all you're getting until I see every charge against me dropped and a shuttle waiting outside." Just like that she closes off again, leaning back in her chair with her arms folded as best she can with the cuffs.

A message flashes up on the screen, hidden from her eyes. It tells him that she is indeed suitable for their programme, and that the police are willing to make a deal in exchange for the very valuable inside information she possesses. He scrolls through the details, catching her narrowed eyes every so often, watching him as though she knows this is _it_.

He tells her the deal. She will tell them everything, just as she said, and in return she'll get a new ID and transport off Earth. Not to Omega, though. To an Alliance training facility. They needed soldiers, the _best_, and she has more raw potential than he's ever seen before in someone her age. She would serve for ten years, and then she would be free to do what she wished. The alternative is a life sentence with no possibility of parole. It is a programme with a mixed rate of success, but he has a feeling it will suit her well. They've caught her early. The Alliance can't afford to let a soldier like this slip away.

She listens, and thinks that if the chair wasn't bolted to the floor she would hurl it at him. There is no fucking _way_ she'll go to boot camp with a load of rookies just so she can learn to salute some navy asshole and swear allegiance to an army that has never done _anything_ for her. He lets her shout and spit.

It takes time, but he explains that it is the only deal on the table. And it's a _good_ one too. This way she can use a gun, she can _fight_, she can use all the aptitude bundled up inside her to do some _good_ for once. The Alliance are the good guys, he tells her. Wouldn't it be nice to do something well and have everyone thank you, even get a _medal_ instead of just running from the law? Wouldn't it be nice to be somewhere _safe_, with no one waiting to stab you in the back, where skill, not ruthlessness, was rewarded? In the Alliance, he says, she can prove herself to be the best, something he _knows_ she already thinks. She can have everything she's ever wanted. It is only ten years, and by the time she's out at twenty-eight she will have her whole life still ahead of her.

Anything else, he says, would be a waste. She would stay in the holding facility until her eighteenth birthday, learning how to follow orders and fall in line, and then they would sign her up and ship her out under supervision.

All she has left to lose, he tells her, is her remarkable skill and sharp mind. Neither would last long in prison.

She fights it, as he knows she would, but after a while she looks up at him, teeth clenched together, and tells him she agrees. Before he leaves to work out the details, he turns back to her, her face on edge, and asks her what she'd like to call herself.

She already knows. Mia's last name, the one no one else knew because no one else had asked. It's a good name. Simple, strong. As soon as she says it out loud, she claims it as her own.

"Shepard," she says, loving the way it sounds, "Jena Shepard."

When she eventually sees the name stamped onto dogtags, it still takes her months to stop fighting it every step of the way. After a year, she finds she is a better commando than she was a killer, and she starts to wonder if perhaps it was for the best. After two, she begins to find her place and savour the chance to prove that she is better than anyone else. After three, she comes under the command of David Anderson, who always had an eye for potential. Almost five years to the day she took the name, 'Jena Shepard' is recorded in the history books as the youngest person to ever receive the Star of Terra.

Twelve years later, the man that gave her this chance would remember her when she is announced as humanity's first Spectre. Fifteen years later, he is killed when the Reapers invade Vancouver. He never lives to see the dead-eyed girl – the one they almost discarded – come back with a fleet to redeem herself and save them all.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Rumours** – Kaidan is called to Earth to give evidence at Shepard's trial, and on the way there he thinks back to the day she came aboard the Normandy SR-1 for the first time.


	2. Rumours

**Chapter 2: Rumours**

_2186 – Four months before the invasion of the Reapers_

_Kaidan_

The whole situation was just unbelievable. If I hadn't been briefed by Admiral Hackett _himself_ I wouldn't have believed it. Three hundred thousand Batarian lives had been lost when Shepard piloted an entire asteroid into a mass relay, and now she was to stand trial on Earth. As a 'known associate' of hers I was supposed to give evidence, maybe shed some light on what had happened.

But it had been over two years since I'd had a real conversation with her. I had no idea what the hell she'd been doing up there.

I didn't know how to feel about it. Once, I'd have sworn blind that if Shepard had done something that extreme it must have been the _only_ way, but the only way to do _what_? No one knew what the purpose behind it was. Hackett had mentioned a Reaper artefact, and I felt a chill in the air. In my head I had started to form an idea – some scenario where blowing up the relay had been necessary to avoid an even greater evil, maybe even the invasion of the Reapers themselves.

But then another, more chilling explanation presented itself, one I'd been trying not to consider. That when she joined Cerberus she was changed somehow, and that the loss of so many lives was no barrier to whatever mission she was on. Shepard never had a _strict_ moral code, but there were lines she wouldn't cross. Killing civilians _definitely_ used to be one, even Batarian civilians.

I still didn't understand why she'd worked with Cerberus in the first place, or what had happened to her for those two lost years. Her reply to the message I'd sent after Horizon only confused things further. At least this way, seeing her face to face on Earth, I'd know for sure. I'd corner her if I had to.

I hadn't been prepared on Horizon. I'd assumed I'd walk up to her and see a clone, a mech, some kind of Cerberus trick, but aside from the scarring on her face and her longer, darker hair there was no sign that she was anything but the same woman that had died on the Normandy SR-1. She still knew how to knock down every one of my defences with a simple look. Hell…she even smelled the same.

Remembering that moment brought all the heated, conflicted emotions rushing back to the surface, raw and painful. The moment I'd managed to move on, she was back in my life and everything shattered into pieces, all the healing I'd done had been for nothing.

The dreams had come back in full force – only this time she didn't die, she just laughed and walked away. That hurt more than before, when I just used to see her panicked eyes as she tore at her helmet in the blackness of space, screaming for help. I should have known that dream wasn't based on anything real – Shepard never panicked, she never screamed.

I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, I really did, more than anything. But it was damn hard to shake off her working for terrorists after two years of silence. Not just any terrorists, either. Cerberus could get inside your _head_, turn regular people into fanatics. I wasn't sure what would be worse – that she was working with them because they'd put a chip in her head, or because she genuinely _wanted_ to.

My eyes fell on the package handed to me as I boarded the transport ship on the Citadel. I'd assumed it was another briefing to go with the piles of information I'd already been given, but it had no Alliance markings and the courier had been from a private company.

Overcome by curiosity I broke the seal and tipped the package onto the desk. Several datapads slid out, all of them bearing the unmistakable logo of Cerberus. I felt my teeth grind together as resentment swirled in my gut. There was a note stuck to the top file, a single line of text written in an elegant hand.

'_Don't blame her. She saved us all. – M.L._'

The initials sounded familiar. I picked up the Alliance briefing I'd been given on Shepard's movements in Cerberus and flicked through it. A name kept coming up, 'Miranda Lawson'. I scanned her file, unable to reconcile the cold, hard, overachiever on the screen with the woman that had written that note, but it had to be her. Who else would go to the trouble to get these to me? Who else would have the connections?

I picked up the first file and opened it. It was their records on Shepard, everything Cerberus had been able to scrounge up from her start in the Alliance right up until the Normandy SR-1 had been blown out of the sky.

There was even an extensive psychological profile, with predicted courses of action for a number of scenarios, along with suggested responses. The first few seemed to revolve around convincing her to work for them by confronting her with dead civilians. The profile tracked her on the mission to stop Saren, her transition from a ruthless, emotionally removed, lone N7 agent to a Spectre with a personal vendetta and a growing attachment to her patchwork, hand-picked crew on the Normandy.

Shepard's real strengths, they wrote, emerged in that mission. Everyone already knew she was one of the greatest commandos alive, that was why she was chosen as a Spectre. What they didn't know – and what took Shepard herselfby surprise – was that as soon as she was given an actual crew, they'd develop a fierce loyalty not to the Alliance but to _her_, to the point where a court martial for stealing an Alliance vessel was nothing compared to letting Shepard down. Her strength was in her leadership – a quality that came so naturally that no one else could match it, and all you could do was be swept along in her wake as you found yourself swearing you'd go to hell and back with her, if only to prove that you were as good as she _expected_ you to be.

That was why Cerberus knew it had to be Shepard. They needed her undeniable combat skills, her knowledge and her connections, but most of all they needed that one, unteachable quality that would have you believing every word she said just because _she_ believed it. With Shepard on their side, they wrote, everything else would fall into place.

The Collector attacks had stopped. I guess they'd been right.

As I flicked to the next page I saw my name as part of a short list of people Cerberus intel had recommended she '_not associate with_' for fear of '_confusion of goals, avoidable moral influence_.' Anderson was on that list too. Had they tried to turn her against us? That was a stupid question – it was Cerberus, _of course_ they had. The real question was whether she'd believed them. I didn't know what to think.

Later on in the file there were pictures of her throughout her career, even her file photo from when she first enlisted back on Earth at the age of eighteen. I did a double take, not quite believing it was the same person. The girl with the shaved head that glared daggers at the camera was scrawny, far too young-looking, and had a hunted look in her dark, hollow eyes, like a cornered animal.

Of course I'd believed her when she told me the story of how she'd ended up in the Alliance, but seeing it right in front of me made it real. I scanned the top-secret record they'd acquired of her recruitment. Most of the fields were filled in with 'Unknown', and then a brief fabrication of a history that didn't exist but would suffice for official enquiries. It was remarkable that she'd got a place in the Alliance at all. It was even _more_ remarkable that she'd got where she was today. No wonder the Alliance had classified all but the most basic details of her first few years in the Navy. It wouldn't look good if it came out that their most prized soldier had started her career as a criminal, or that hardly a month had gone by at the start without her being disciplined for fighting or insubordination.

I opened that folder of photos and cycled through them, watching as she grew and matured and started to hold her head high. The picture of her with the Star of Terra pinned to a dress uniform was particularly good, though she still looked more like a self-satisfied mercenary than a proud soldier. That smirk I knew so well started to show up as commendation after commendation was sent her way, eventually overshadowing the many black marks she'd received early on. Finally I found one that made me pause. The image that had flashed up on the news for weeks after the Normandy had been attacked. The one they had cruelly used for _months_ afterwards to advertise the Alliance Navy. It was the one I'd been looking at when she'd stalked on board the Normandy for the first time as its Executive Officer, and that was when I knew that first trip would be anything but dull. As soon as she appeared, everything changed.

The rumours had started that morning, I remembered. As soon as our flight plan was altered to include a brief stop-off at the Kovassi space station, it was popularly concluded that the latest edition to the Normandy's crew had to be Commander Shepard. The hero of the Skyllian Blitz and the first woman ever to join the handful of N7 agents operating in the galaxy. That she was even _on_ Kovassi had been a rumour in itself, but that didn't stop the speculation as to why the Alliance had chosen her for a simple shakedown run. I'd seen her on the news almost six years earlier when she received the Star of Terra – over eight years now – but otherwise she'd kept a low profile, and at the time there'd hardly been anything on her record that wasn't well above my security clearance.

On the vids she'd looked restless, like she had to make every effort to reign herself in for the cameras, and her posed file photo – one shot, straight ahead, neutral expression – was no different. But then there were others like the one I held in front of me. Recent candid pictures from just before the Eden Prime mission where she was at ease. In one that had caught my eye when I first saw it, she was checking her gun and happened to glance up at the camera, a dangerous smirk on her face that I'd come to know so well. Though she wore full armour emblazoned with the N7 logo, she didn't look military. She looked like a mercenary. Her dark hair had been buzzed off at the sides and bleached blonde on top in a messy arc like a saw blade. Her high cheekbones, elegant, catlike features and dark eyes would have made her obviously beautiful if she didn't have a scowl permanently pulling at her brows and twisting her full, broad lips.

I remembered thinking when I first saw the picture that it was no wonder people were scared of her. Now when I looked down at her face all I could see was the way the clouds over her head would break apart as soon as she smiled, and how that would make me feel like we were part of some private joke that no one else understood. I still remembered the jolt that ran through my body the first time she laughed at something I'd said, and I'd noticed the shape of her eyes, her jawline, her lips, and marvelled at how goddamn _beautiful_ she was. I still remembered every detail of the long, slow fall for the woman that had been my Commander.

But just from the file, no one could know that. From the file, she was just a long list of very _high_ numbers.

The only way you got _invited_ to the N-school, not to mention make it to the rank of N7, was if you were good, and everyone knew how good Shepard was. A year before Eden Prime I'd been on a ship with someone who had just come back from a mission where things had got so ugly that _she'd_ been called in. He'd told me about how she flew across the battlefield, barely pausing as she took out anyone in her way with efficient, brutal strikes that no one could mimic. She had a hunger for combat that few possessed, and her reputation was truly terrifying, only mitigated by the fact that she reported to the well-liked Captain Anderson. They called her his protégé. True enough, she'd only started to flourish in the Alliance when she came under his command and he turned her from a raw force of nature into an elite soldier. I scrolled down to an assessment of her skills from a few years before she was chosen as a Spectre. There it was: 'Marksmanship and weapon control is naturally flawless.' 'Shepard excels her peers in every aspect.' 'One of humanity's greatest military assets.' 'Recommended for immediate advancement.' Yes, everyone knew how good she was, even back then.

I remembered Joker talking endlessly about all the things he'd heard about her – how some thought she was a stone cold bitch, others owed her their lives, and many, many more said she just confirmed all the fantastical, unbelievable things they'd heard about N7s. Aside from drinking the blood of fallen enemies to gain their strength, Joker had been quick to point out. Turned out that one _was_ just a rumour.

I scanned the info Cerberus had picked up on the Normandy's maiden voyage. There were backgrounds on all of us – far more thorough than I was comfortable with – and an extensive log of her activities on Eden Prime and before the mission itself.

'_Intelligence suggests Shepard came aboard Normandy SR-1 as a personal favour to Captain David Anderson [see 'Known Associates'], ending shore leave on Kovassi Station after only two days (NB: leave was recommended by commanding officer as Shepard had been on active duty for six months previously). As she was initially unaware of the mission's true purpose, this suggests Anderson is a figure with remarkable influence over Shepard. Advise limiting contact where possible._'

I hadn't known _that_. No wonder she'd been so curt at first – being _told_ to take a holiday was one thing, but having it cut short just as you were getting used to being off-duty must've been hell. I remembered perfectly the first time I'd met her. She'd worn the weary, pissed-off expression of someone who'd been woken up in the middle of the night for something stupid that could have waited until morning.

She'd been shorter than I imagined, shorter than me by a good few inches, but I hadn't been dumb enough to think she couldn't still rip out my implant with her bare hands and have me on the ground before I even had a _chance_ to fire up my biotics.

I'd assumed she'd be like the other Ns I'd worked with – efficient, violent and totally intolerant of failure – so I'd done my best to present myself as professional and protocol-driven, someone who respected her authority. And then, as she'd left the cockpit with Anderson after he'd introduced her as our new XO, she'd turned back to say "_And don't '_ma'am_' me, Lieutenant, it's weird_."

Joker had laughed his ass off as soon as she was out of hearing range. He'd defected to Cerberus with her too. When I'd heard about that, half of me was furious but I could almost understand. It couldn't have been easy staying in the Alliance as the pilot that had got Commander Shepard killed. Or not, as it turned out.

The other half felt like there was a party I hadn't been invited to or even _told_ about. She was the kind of person that could talk to you and make you feel like there was only you and her in the entire world, and there was no one she'd rather be with. She was so cold and hard when we were on duty that when she let the veneer drop I'd felt like I was the luckiest person alive, like it was an honour that she'd let me or anyone else see that side of her.

So when I'd seen her again after so long, flanked by Garrus and a goddamn Cerberus biotic, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world, it had been a slap in the face. It was like she'd come back from the grave just to personally let me know that all the things I'd thought about her or the two of us were a lie, an illusion, like I was stupid for believing the great Commander Shepard had ever cared about _anything_, let alone me.

I knew so little about what she'd done with Cerberus, and even less about _why_.

It all started on Eden Prime.

I looked at the remaining stack of files from Cerberus on the desk. We'd just jumped through the Sol relay, and there were a good six or so Citadel hours before we arrived in Vancouver. I had time to find out.

**Chapter 3: Hindsight** – Stuck on Earth in Alliance HQ, Shepard thinks back to how it all started, the simpler times aboard the Normandy SR-1, the aftermath of Eden Prime and getting to know her Lieutenant.


	3. Hindsight

**Chapter 3: Hindsight**

_Shepard_

Earth. I _hated _Earth.

It was an ugly, wet, overcrowded planet, and every last memory I had of it was bad. This one would be no different when it was over. The only thing I could see out of the window of the cramped room they were keeping me in was fog, towering grey buildings, and _rain_.

They could build a ship to send me halfway across the galaxy, but they couldn't figure out a way to control the goddamn rain.

I hadn't been back here for...what, thirteen years? If I included the two years swallowed up by a Cerberus lab, I hadn't stepped foot on my home planet for almost half my life. And I hadn't missed it. Not one bit.

Every experience I'd had told me Earth was infested by greed, the powerful exploiting the weak, grinding them down so hard that the people scuttling from place to place couldn't even dream of a better life. The huge, impressive Alliance building I stood in was like a giant middle finger to the hidden population that struggled to survive day-to-day, beneath the notice of those in charge. They claimed Earth was a shining example of expansion, but in reality when resources and the middle class flowed to colonies on the edges of space, to the Citadel, to _anywhere_ else, it left those too poor to get transport off-world or those so rich that the planet was a playground. I couldn't blame them. I'd left too, soon as I could. I'd never looked back, until now.

Now I was locked up. Again. Only this time there was a media circus outside waiting to catch a glimpse of the hero who'd managed to fuck things up so badly.

Served them right, I thought. I was never a hero. I was just a damn good shot who got lucky. And now there was a political shitstorm with me at its centre, the Batarians calling for my head and the Alliance deaf to my pleas. I stared hard at the five tiny sparrows making their way in ink across the inside of my forearm. How did I end up back here, after all I'd done?

I wandered over to the bed in the corner and snatched up the datapad on the table as I rolled onto the sheets, flicking the little switch on the side and squinting as the bright screen bloomed into life.

I didn't have access to Alliance files seeing as my rank had been stripped 'until further notice'. They'd even taken my fucking _dogtags_. All I had was this little datapad, but on it was everything EDI had managed to download from Cerberus before we'd landed the Normandy SR-2 in the middle of Alliance Headquarters so I could turn myself in. I remembered that with a satisfied smirk. I'd come out of the ship to find several laser dots dancing between my eyes, and before I could explain that I was there voluntarily, a sergeant with his head screwed on right had ordered them to stand down on the grounds that I was Commander Shepard and if I didn't _want_ to cooperate then a few guards sure as hell wouldn't _make_ me.

I was told that I'd be kept in a secure facility in Alliance HQ – as a guest, not a prisoner, of course – until enough evidence could be compiled to host a trial where I could answer for my crimes in Batarian space. That could take months, and I knew we didn't have the time.

So there I was, lying on the bed of my cell – sorry, _room_ – with my trusty datapad in hand, trying to understand how I'd gone from a lone special ops agent with a reputation for doing the impossible to a Cerberus operative responsible for ending three _hundred thousand_ lives. It was a number I could barely wrap my head around.

I didn't know how it had come to this. But I _did_ know when it had all started.

It wasn't when I shot my way out of the Reds. It wasn't joining the Alliance, my first medal, the star of Terra, even meeting _Anderson_. The turning point was on Eden Prime. The Prothean beacon that made it impossible for me to turn away from the whole thing.

Kaidan.

Even thinking of his name sent a cold shiver down my throat and stirred my belly until I felt queasy with warring emotions. It wasn't fair, I thought. He had a two year head start on getting over all that had happened between us. I'd bet my ass he wasn't sitting around moping over _me_.

My fingers danced across the surface of the little device, swiping past images, videos, old reports, until I came to the one from that very first mission that changed everything. I saw the names first. Shepard. Alenko. Williams. Jenkins (KIA).

I'd only been on board for a couple of days. Already I'd managed to lose someone. He'd been too eager, too young, and I'd been a fraction of a second too slow.

I'd seen countless soldiers die. But most of them hadn't been in my unit or under my command, and if they were then at least they'd _been_ in a warzone before and it was their own fault. Jenkins had been one of the greenest recruits I'd seen since boot camp. He had no business being on the ground, but I'd had no intel, and no idea what we were getting into. He just wanted to defend his home. It was stupid. I shouldn't have let him come.

That moment was frozen in my mind. After I saw him go down I'd distracted myself by taking down the remaining drones and aiming into the trees, on the lookout for any other hidden threats. But then I'd glanced back to see Kaidan crouching by Jenkins' body, telling me he was dead. The first casualty of my time aboard the Normandy. For a long, hard moment I had a lieutenant looking at me, his eyes asking what should be done, and my confidence and swagger and the big fat 'N7' on my chest suddenly felt meaningless, because there was _nothing_ I could do.

The moment lasted a fraction of a second, and as soon as it was over I called it in to the Normandy and gave the order to leave the body there to be retrieved when we could. Kaidan had nodded, clearly satisfied with my authoritative handling of the matter, and we'd moved on. But I couldn't get Jenkins' blank eyes in his big, stupid face out of my head. I shouldn't have cared.

I'd heard all the rumours. I knew what people had thought of me, even before I became a Spectre. I knew I had a near-legendary status in some circles, and I didn't mind because when it came down to it I was _better_ than anyone I'd ever worked with, or at least better at what _I_ did. I knew even before Anderson had confirmed it that, if a spot opened up for a human Spectre, I'd be high on the list. I _knew_ how good I was.

When I slipped up, though, I felt it. It was as if a safety net vanished from underneath me, especially when it was _my_ decisions that had screwed everything up. Those under my command would look at me, waiting for an order, an explanation, anything that would put their minds at ease and confirm that _yes_,_ this was all under control_. It was the same look that Kaidan had given me then, telling me that even before he knew me, he had trusted me.

But I wasn't superhuman – or at least back _then_ I wasn't – I was just good at what I did, and I liked to work solo. The faster I climbed the ranks the more I started to realise that the total confidence that the higher-ups inspired didn't just _descend_ on you once you got enough medals pinned on your chest. You just got better at faking it, at picking up the pieces, carrying on and expecting others to do the same.

I was unshakable when a horde stood between me and my goal. I could kill without mercy and without hesitation. I could keep my head perfectly clear with four seconds left on the timer of a bomb I was disarming. But I still couldn't watch a squadmate get gunned down on my watch without it hitting me square in the chest that _I'd fucked up._ That Eden Prime had been my chance to prove myself for the Spectres only made it worse.

Finally I was being recognised for the force of nature that I was, but what if that alone wasn't good enough?

What if it _I_ wasn't good enough?

I wondered when I'd started to care. I never used to. Besides, it would only get worse.

I still heard Ashley's voice sometimes, the way it cracked at the moment she knew she was going to die, when she told me she didn't regret a thing. The total silence on the commlink as I yelled and yelled for her to get to the rendezvous point, convinced I could save both of them if I was just _fast enough_.

The beacon shook me up too, though from what I heard it was infinitely more frightening for Alenko and Williams to be waiting for the Normandy to pick up my unconscious body, not sure if I would ever wake up. I'd been out cold at the time.

It was amazing the things that could go on around you when you were unconscious, I thought, flexing my right hand and marvelling how it was both mine and not mine at all. Cerberus had done a good job. You could only tell my knuckles were now reinforced with metal if you were on the receiving end of a punch that would shatter your jaw.

On the datapad I scrolled through my report for that mission, written in short, unembellished prose. Reading it now, it sounded like I'd really known what I was talking about. I hadn't known at all. I'd barely remembered how it had all happened.

I remembered pushing Kaidan down. I'm still not sure why I did that. It could have been _him_ that activated the beacon. It could have destroyed his mind, or he could have been the one to save the galaxy with the pictures in his head. But I took the hit instead. And then there was nothing but a dull pounding in my head that became impossibly sharp as soon as I opened my eyes to see the blinding lights of the medbay.

oOoOoOo

The lights hurt. Everything hurt. I squeezed my eyes closed, tried to shut out the battering on my senses, but it was too late and a spike of pain at the back of my skull made me wince. There was a flurry of movement near where I lay, and two soft voices I couldn't quite make out spoke above me.

Images flashed across my eyes, things I didn't recognise, but they felt…familiar somehow. Like the tail end of a dream. A dream that _hurt_.

The talking stopped, but the humming of the ship was loud enough. I couldn't remember _which_ ship I was on or what had happened, but the fact that I couldn't feel any handcuffs made me optimistic.

Slowly, the humming faded into the background, the throbbing ebbed away, and my mind cleared. I opened my eyes and the figure of that doctor I half-remembered blurred into focus. She was holding an empty syringe next to an IV drip. My eyes followed the tube down to where its needle slipped beneath the skin of my arm.

A picture forced its way into my head again for a moment, screeching like static. It made me feel nauseous. Maybe that was just the IV.

I rolled my head to the other side where the lights weren't so bright and was confronted with dark, whiskey-coloured eyes topped by thick eyebrows furrowed in concern. The dashing Alliance poster boy, my brain supplied. The biotic. Alenko. At once I remembered what had happened and realised where I was. His mouth opened as if to speak, but he remained silent.

"Commander?" It was the doctor. Chakwas, I remembered. I turned back to her and tried to prop myself up on my elbows, ignoring the throbbing that had now moved to the front of my skull. "You had us worried. How do you feel?" I watched the clear liquid run down the tube into my arm and relaxed as the warm combination of painkillers and stimulants washed over me.

"Like shit," I croaked. Sitting up, I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my free hand. "How long was I out?"

"Over fifteen hours now," she replied nonchalantly. My head snapped up in surprise and promptly started hammering again, but at least the sharpest pain was gone.

"_Fifteen hours?_ What the hell happened?"

"It was my fault," Alenko said quickly, as if he'd been rehearsing it for a while, "I got too close, the beacon had some kind of…security mechanism. A forcefield. You had to…uh…push me down. And then you were pulled in."

The beacon. I remembered the beacon. I remembered throwing him to the ground and the adrenaline that swelled up in my throat as I was pulled in by a force much too powerful to fight against. I was always saving everyone else's ass.

An image flashed in front of my eyes again with a stab of pain. It felt like there were hundreds of those pictures locked in a box inside my head, fighting like demons to get out but not knowing what to do once they escaped. That was…worrying.

"It happened fast," I said finally, rubbing my forehead and trying not to look at the bright lights surrounding me, "We had no intel on the thing, no idea that could happen." I glanced up at him and saw the traces of a relieved smile just leaving his face. Had he thought I'd give him shit for it? I was pissed that I'd taken the brunt of his actions, but it also wasn't crazy for him to assume a dead artifact wouldn't send out a goddamn _tractor beam_ if someone got too close. Besides, he wasn't exactly the reckless sort. "Do we know what it did?"

He shook his head.

"We don't even know if Alenko set it off," Chakwas responded for him, "let alone _what_ it did to you." She picked up a tiny flashlight and lifted my chin. The light burned as she shone it into my eyes to track their movements. In the whiteness, I saw images my mind couldn't decode, and a knot of anxiety formed in my gut. "While you were unconscious I ran a few tests and picked up some very unusual brain activity. Were it not for the fact that you seem fine now-" mercifully, the light clicked off and I squeezed my eyes shut, "-I'd say we were looking at a case of severe psychological trauma." I almost laughed at that. After everything I'd seen, the idea that I _could_ be traumatised seemed ludicrous. "I also picked up signs associated with intense dreaming or hallucinations. Do you remember seeing anything? It's possible the beacon was trying to relay information, we still don't know its purpose."

"I could've been dreaming..." I started , acutely aware of how crazy I could look if it turned out I'd just had a headache and a nightmare, "There's these pictures that keep flashing in my head. The same ones over and over again, like a sequence."

"Pictures of what?" Alenko jumped in, his low voice much easier on my headache than the doctor's, "Something to do with the beacon? The Protheans?"

"Hell if I know, but none of them are friendly. There's...death. The ruins of cities, but nothing I recognise. Nothing that makes sense. It's like the signal's scrambled. Or it's just not meant for me." Something occurred to me suddenly, "If they came from the beacon, maybe Saren had set it up for himself, a Turian brain, and that's why I can't make sense of it. Or something like that." I felt foolish for giving so much credit to visions and shrugged unenthusiasticly, "Shit, I don't know how the damn thing works. Did we at least get it on board?"

"You must not remember," Alenko replied, "It held you in the air for a few seconds before it just…exploded."

"Exploded," I deadpanned.

"Yeah. The top blew off and took half the beacon with it. It's pretty much useless now, far as we can tell, though we hauled the rest on board anyway."

"_Great_," I seethed, deciding that my massive head trauma gave me an excuse for not standing on ceremony, "My first day and a Spectre gets killed and a priceless artefact gets blown the fuck up. What next?"

Chakwas opened her mouth as if to reply, but at that moment the doors slid open and I heard familiar footsteps approach. "Captain Anderson, hello," she greeted. I tried to straighten myself out as subtly as I could, but my stomach chose that instant to let out a low rumble of hunger and I decided that if there was one higher-up that didn't care whether or not I saluted, it would be Anderson.

"How's our XO holding up?" He asked casually, though I could see his eyes roaming over the various machines accounting for my every breath and heartbeat to catch anything out of the ordinary.

"She doesn't appear to have sustained anything more than a mild headache," Chakwas replied, "which is lucky."

"_Mild?_" I muttered defensively, kneading the painful spot that had moved back to the base of my skull.

"Glad to hear it," he turned to me, "I need to speak to you, Shepard, _before_ we reach the Citadel." I splayed my fingers to show I wasn't going anywhere fast and Chakwas obediently shuffled over to her office door. Alenko saluted smartly and excused himself, shooting me a backwards glance as he left.

I'd find him later, I thought as I slid the IV needle out of my forearm with practised ease. He looked as though he could use a personal debriefing.

I told Anderson details I'd kept from the other two, as much information about the new pictures I had kicking around my brain as I could manage. I knew he'd believe me – he always gave me the benefit of the doubt. He'd been the first one to pull me out of a line-up and tell me I was special so I'd damn well better _act_ like it, and I'd better put my talents to good use. I'd been prepared to coast through my time in the Alliance like an obstinate child in detention. He'd made it worthwhile, and he was why I was still here, a year after I could have left. A lot had changed in those ten years.

"What do you think of the squad you had on the ground?" He asked finally after I had given him as thorough an account as I could.

"Williams is good, sir," I started, trying my best to be objective after watching her squad get torn to shreds, "If we take this thing any further, I think you should keep her on board. Not like she has much to go back to anyway." He nodded thoughtfully.

"And Alenko?"

"Takes orders well, observant, calm under pressure, decent soldier." I paused, thinking about the way he'd schooled his face as soon as we moved away from Jenkins. "Reliable. And…maybe I'm just not used to working with biotics, sir, but he kept _his_ on a tight leash. Only used _just_ enough force to get the job done, even when we were right out in the open." I'd thought that was odd. If I could bend gravity with my mind I'd use any excuse to fire it up and _revel_ in that kind of power, but Alenko didn't seem like the kind of guy that thrived on chaos. "He's good, but…it's almost like he's scared of using them. Is that how we train them these days?"

"He's an L2, you know," Anderson replied as though sharing a tragic secret, "Their implants spike higher. It could be he was concerned about that, or perhaps just the headaches. If you like I'll have him replaced with someone more suitable once we dock."

"Nah," it was a snap decision, but I hadn't got this far without trusting my instincts, "Keep him. I'd rather have someone who takes a while to get started than someone who doesn't know how to stop. He's got potential."

oOoOoOo

I'd meant it at the time. I remember thinking that anyone who could watch a friend die, grieve appropriately and get back to the mission within the space of a few minutes was someone I wanted on my side. The higher up the Ns you got the crazier the people you worked with seemed to be. Half-mad mercenaries who thought killing was fun or that the weak didn't deserve to be saved. Hardened agents who wouldn't waste a second to pick up a fallen comerade. I liked to work alone, but that didn't mean I ever wanted to be like _them_. It would be so easy to slip back into those habits, become one of the people I'd hated in the Reds.

It was Anderson that had pulled me out. It was Anderson that acted like I was a good person and a great soldier, and his expectations became the reality I wanted to live up to. He'd shaken me out of the black hole I'd drove myself into. Alenko seemed to think the same thing, which I supposed would explain why he'd been waiting for me when I woke up – embarrassment at his mistake couldn't be the only reason. I needed more people like that around, if only so I could ignore their advice. He was _damn_ nice to look at too, which helped. And so I kept him.

It was easy to look back afterwards, as I rotted in my sparsely-furnished cell awaiting trial, and think that it had been a mistake. I should have replaced him with someone cold and hard who wouldn't allow me to care about what was happening around me. And then I thought about that night before Ilos, when everything had seemed like too much, and I didn't know how I'd have got through it all without him believing that I _could_.

Hindsight should have helped. In this case it didn't. I still didn't know whether the time we had together was worth the _shit_ that followed – the crushing realisation that my heart was just as naïve and vulnerable and _stupid_ as anyone else's. That had been the worst part.

oOoOoOo

I found him later, after Anderson had left and I'd wandered into the mess hall. He was leaning against the wall holding a container of what looked like reheated dinner from the night before, fork in hand. I nodded a greeting and wandered over to a cabinet, rooting around inside until I found a generic-looking nutrition bar. I didn't care how much it didn't taste like food, I just needed something to fill the hole in my stomach left by _fifteen hours_ of unconsciousness. I still couldn't believe my body had betrayed me like that. It was a miracle if I slept more than six hours a night, even on leave. Fifteen hours' sleep felt like an unjustifiable luxury.

"I'm glad to see you're alright, Commander," he said as I leaned against the counter and tore open the wrapper, "For a while there we didn't know if you were going to wake up or not."

"Thanks, Alenko," I took a large bite of the bar which I only just noticed was meant as two portions. And then, because I could practically _feel_ the waves of embarrassment at his mistake on Eden Prime radiating off of him, I charitably added, "And thanks for dragging me back here. I appreciate it."

I didn't mention that, if he hadn't been there, I could have spent the last fifteen hours awake _and_ with the intact beacon on board. I wouldn't lie, there were times when having him around had been handy, but as a rule I didn't like relying on other people, and I _especially_ didn't like having to look after them on the ground. He could handle himself well enough, and none of us knew the beacon would react like that, but between the two of us _I_ certainly wasn't the one at fault.

"Was the least we could do, ma'am," I gave him a sharp look and he looked instantly sheepish, "Sorry. 'Commander'."

I really did _hate_ 'ma'am'. It wasn't fair that men got to be called 'Sir'. That word carried authority. 'Ma'am' just sounded like I was an old woman with dementia lost somewhere in public being led to safety by a kindly passer-by. There were some linguistic inequalities even 200 years of feminism couldn't fix. I'd checked, and I was younger than the man in front of me by three years. I'd be dead and buried before I'd let him or anyone else 'ma'am' me.

"Shepard's fine. I'm not exactly a stickler for protocol." I took another bite. He nodded, still with a faint smile on his lips. It faded as a pensive look settled itself on that chiselled face of his, and I already knew what he was going to say.

"I _am_ sorry, you know. About the beacon. It was stupid of me. I just remember wanting to get a closer look at it and then...well it won't happen again, Commander. Shepard." Part of me was impressed that he understood it was a fuck-up on his part and that I expected better. Most soldiers I knew didn't like to admit their mistakes. Hell, in my experience they were too busy trying to _impress_ me to notice they'd made any.

"I told you not to worry about it. Shit happens, could have been any of us. At least I'm alive, unlike most of the colonists. It got pretty rough down there." I caught his eye, keen to see how affected he'd been by the whole thing. He was experienced in combat, but that didn't mean he'd ever seen a pile of dead farmers before. It could mess with you.

"Yeah. I don't think dead civilians is something I ever want to get used to. It doesn't seem right to drag them into it. I signed up for this, they didn't. At least you managed to stop Saren from finishing the job." He was too positive for someone who had just been through that botched mission. There was no way I'd have thought of any good that had come out of it except for 'we're both still alive'.

"You were there too," I added, "And Williams. I couldn't have disarmed those bombs solo." That wasn't entirely true. I probably could have, but I figured since we were playing the 'let's dig something shiny out of this pile of shit' game, I'd throw it out there.

"Well that's our job as marines, isn't it? Sticking together." An idealist, then. I didn't know enough yet to figure out if he was going to be a positive influence or just incredibly annoying. "I'm just...I'm pissed we lost Jenkins."

I stared hard at the nutrition bar, breaking a piece off and considering it briefly before loading it into my mouth. "That wasn't right," I muttered between chews, "How he died, I mean. I shouldn't have let him take point. That one's on me."

"I was there," he said immediately, his dark eyes so sincere I almost felt uncomfortable, "you did _everything_ right. Short of keeping him on the ship there wasn't a damn thing you or anyone else could have done to keep him safe. It was just bad luck." Coming from anyone else I'd have dismissed it as a useless platitude, but from Alenko it sounded like there was thought behind it, like he meant it. He really _was_ a poster boy. I was amazed that I hadn't seen him on vid campaigns: that raspy, easy-on-the-ears voice could get a lot of young biotics queueing outside recruiting stations

"Maybe," I replied, still totally unconvinced, "I just wish he'd died in some crazy fire fight or saving someone, not an ambush with a couple of fucking _drones_. At least then I'd have something good to tell his folks."

"Oh," he said as if something just occurred to him, "don't worry about that, Commander. I knew Jenkins pretty well, so I asked Anderson if I could give them the news." I looked up at him in surprise. That was…very considerate, I thought. Delivering news like that was my absolute _least_ favourite part of being in command. I never knew what to say. Whatever I came out with sounded artificial to my own ears, but Kaidan looked like he'd be better at that kind of thing.

"Thanks, Alenko," I said as sincerely as I could manage while chewing on a bar of what could only be called 'food' if you'd never had a proper meal, "I appreciate it. Did you at least make something good up?"

"I put in a few extra details here and there, yeah. Far as they're concerned, he went down in a heroic blaze of glory while we disarmed the bombs around the colony with _seconds_ to spare."

I nodded and took another bite, grateful for one less thing to worry about and impressed that he'd had the initiative to do it himself. Most people would offload that kind of thing onto whoever else they could.

I broke the silence at last, "And to think I expected this trip to be boring."

"Yeah, it's been one hell of a shakedown run," he replied with a self-conscious laugh, "One Spectre guns down another in cold blood and we blow up a prothean artifact. The Citadel won't be happy, but then I guess they never are. I just hope they don't hold it against you becoming a Spectre."

"You know, I'd almost forgotten," I said wistfully. That was actually true. I hadn't thought about it since I'd woken up, which was strange. After advancing as high as I could in the Ns, I'd thought of the Spectres as the next logical step. Even if it was uncharted territory for humans, I was good enough. No regulation, no higher-ups, just doing what I did best, and I could work _solo_. It had sounded perfect. But then Jenkins had died, the operation had gone to hell, and we were on our way to see the Council to explain how we'd managed to screw the mission up so badly, _and_ to top it all off I'd get to accuse one of their favourite operatives of defecting to the Geth.

It was, frankly, not how I'd imagined it.

"Can't blame you for that, I guess you've had a lot on your mind," he said with a shrug as he absent-mindedly shifted the food around the container he held, "But I still hope they follow through with it. I mean you're _good_, Shepard, you don't need me to tell you that. If any human can get the spot it'll be you."

"I know," I tilted my head to emphasise that this was honesty, not arrogance, "But I appreciate the thought. After what's happened on the mission I wouldn't be surprised if the Embassy pulled their support, though. The Ambassador's not exactly sympathetic to that kind of thing, or to _me_. I find it hard to believe he agreed to put me forward in the first place."

"Nah, he has to support you," Alenko said with a shake of his head, "He needs you there, a human in the Spectres would boost his position to no end. I mean it's not ideal but you'd be the biggest bargaining chip he could ask for. If they recognise a human as good enough to protect the Council, the Ambassador could use it to get them to lift a few sanctions, maybe even get protection for some of the outer colonies. If we'd had that sooner, Eden Prime might not have happened."

I'd only started talking to him so I could think out loud, maybe get a better idea of the LT as a soldier, but now I was _impressed_. Most marines paid little attention to the bigger picture, but I supposed that was inevitable when the bigger picture was the size of the galaxy.

"You know your shit, Alenko," I said, "Been around a while?"

"Just gone ten years, yeah. Alliance is pretty much the best place for a biotic, as I found out. We're not exactly much use anywhere else unless you want to be a mercenary. But hey, you've been around even longer and you're younger than me. Why did you enlist so early?" He checked his lack of formality immediately, "if you don't mind me asking, that is. Commander."

I thought about telling him the truth, then, just for a moment. I knew I wouldn't, but I also thought about how interesting it'd be to see his reaction. It would be funny to see someone like him – tall and handsome and honest and _everything_ a soldier was supposed to be – confronted with the plain, ugly facts.

"Earth isn't much fun unless you have money or a decent family," I started carefully. I'd skimmed the files before the missions and I knew Alenko had grown up with a good family somewhere in Canada and still had both parents. A father in the navy too. That was probably the main reason why he'd enlisted. It could hardly be further from my experience of Earth, or life. "I had neither, I was just lucky enough to enlist when I did." Funny as it would be to toy with Alenko and watch him try to keep his composure as I told him what it _really_ took to make a soldier like me, he didn't deserve that. He was annoyingly sincere, but not actually _annoying_. That was a first.

"You grew up there, then?" There was an inquisitive slant to his brows, "Hope this isn't getting too personal, Commander, but I'd heard you were from one of the colonies."

"My history isn't on general access, mostly classified." If anyone asked, I told them it was because I was in spec-ops, and our histories were often erased so no one could use them against us. It was true, in a way. I moved the conversation on to something lighter as I peeled back the last part of the horrible nutrition bar's wrapper. "People like to make stuff up instead. Weirdest one I heard was that the Alliance grew me in a tank. Genetically engineered to be a super-soldier, or some shit like that."

"You're kidding." His smile was openly curious. I imagined he'd be terrible at poker, but at least he was decent conversation.

"I wish. Worst thing is, I've been asked if it's true more than once."

"By the public?"

"Actual marines. Who knows where the Alliance finds these guys."

"Well I guess they can't all be like you, right? If they were we'd be running this galaxy by now." There was naked admiration in his voice, and that smile was still there. I wanted to shake it out of him, tell him to stop thinking I was brilliant and to concentrate on being brilliant _himself._ I'd got bored of that kind of praise a long time ago.

"We'll be one step closer if they make me a Spectre," I said without enthusiasm, "But I'm not holding out. We're on our way to the Citadel now, and after I'm done explaining how I managed to fuck up the mission and accuse Saren, I doubt they'll be keen to hand out promotions. Almost wish I hadn't woken up in time to see it."

"They have to listen," he insisted, using what I'd come to think of as his '_on the bright side_' voice, "We've got no reason to make that stuff up, and you've got a lot of credibility. The crew's ready for whatever happens, Commander."

"Yeah, I just hope-"

"Commander Shepard," Joker's voice crackled through the intercom. I sighed. "Commander you're needed on the bridge."

"That's my cue," I muttered, throwing the wrapper I held into the waste disposal and moving towards the stairs.

"Good talking to you, M—Commander," I nodded in acknowledgement, a smirk on my lips at his self-correction.

It had actually been…nice talking to him. He was uncomplicated. Normal. As I made my way to the bridge it occurred to me that 'normal' wasn't the best way to describe someone with eezo nodules embedded throughout their body, but it was the first word that presented itself. For that moment and many more in the future, I didn't regret my decision to keep him on the crew.

oOoOoOo

They told me he was on his way to Earth, to this very facility to give evidence. I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to look at him and be completely neutral when I wanted to throw the datapad I held straight at his head. He'd pissed me off so much.

I wanted to confront him, to shout at him, but I didn't want to see him in case my head conveniently emptied itself of thoughts like last time. I knew I should have explained to him about Cerberus…but then he shouldn't have accused me of something so out of character that I couldn't _believe_ it had come out of his mouth.

It made me tense up just thinking about it. If he were here now I didn't know whether I'd yell at him or tell him he still looked _damn_ good in uniform.

I was Commander Shepard, and I had a treacherous brain that wouldn't follow orders when it came to how I felt. A familiar knot twisted in my belly and heat rippled up to my throat when I pictured him aboard the first Normandy, lifting his eyes to mine, giving me a private smile over the top of his console.

Things were so much simpler back then.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Honour** – Kaidan remembers what it was like to watch the first human Spectre sworn in, and is surprised when he finds her alone the night before the Normandy SR-1 is due to ship out from the Citadel.


	4. Honour

**Chapter 4: Honour**

_Kaidan_

The vid file was bad quality. It was an omnitool job and the person behind it didn't know how to use the zoom function. By the time they got a decent shot, the ceremony was over. It froze as she turned to walk from the platform, Ashley and I flanking her while Udina and Anderson led the way back to the embassies. I didn't need a vid to remind me what it was like. I remembered it perfectly.

It should have been incredible to watch the first human Spectre be sworn in by the Council. But, after what we'd learned in the few days before, it felt like a necessity, a bit of paperwork to sort out before the mission could start. It was rushed. Udina had muttered something about how she should have been wearing Alliance dress uniform, and how there should have at least been a number of reporters on the scene to broadcast it throughout the galaxy. Instead, the only audience was those dotted around the Presidium tower, looking down in confusion. One of them had been smart enough to get out their omnitool to capture the final moments of that particular moment of galactic history.

Odd that Cerberus should have this on their records. Everyone knew she was a Spectre, they hardly needed the vid for confirmation, but if I'd learned anything looking through the file they'd compiled on her, they liked to be thorough.

They still missed out a lot, though.

They said she had links to Councillor Udina, but that their relationship was not 'cordial'. That hadn't been the half of it. When we'd gone to see him for a debriefing after the Normandy had been handed over, she'd snapped at him with a fury that made me smirk just thinking about it. I'd been close to horrified at the time, having assumed that insulting the human ambassador was a death sentence for a career in the Alliance, but afterwards – and even now – her daring brought a smile to my face.

While we searched for clues about Saren on the Citadel, when we met Garrus and Tali and Wrex and a host of others that would become so important, those days had been hard. It's not easy having no one believe you. Shepard was a woman of action, and I could see that every time she'd had to repeat what happened on Eden Prime, or was shunted onto a new lead, every time she had to talk about the pictures the beacon had left in her head, her patience was worn down.

So when Udina had called her to his office – directly after 'relieving' Captain Anderson of command – to discuss how she could help to secure humanity's advancement in the galaxy, it was inevitable that she'd snap.

oOoOoOo

"Mr Ambassador, I'd appreciate it if you could stop talking about this like it's a win for _you_. Under different circumstances I'd let it go, but seeing as I'm only a Spectre because they need me to hunt down a turian that murdered an entire colony of _humans_, I don't see much cause for celebration."

Her voice was calm, but I could hear something simmering beneath the surface. If I'd learned anything about Shepard in the short time I'd known her, it was that she wasn't one to mince words or hold back. From what I could tell it was a well-known trait of hers, but now she had the Spectre status to back it up.

"Eden Prime was a tragedy, of course, but let's not forget that we have been after this for some time now," Udina replied in a dismissive tone, missing the point entirely. I saw her hands clench into fists. I thought he'd leave it at that but he clearly couldn't resist one last jab as he sat down at his desk, "Besides, you didn't make it easy. You were lucky they considered you at all after the way you handled yourself these past few days."

"The way _I_ handled myself?" She snapped in an icy tone, stepping towards him. I felt my whole body tense up. "_You_ were the one acting like a petulant child in there, letting Saren's words get to you like he was a playground bully. And just now, telling them to send a fleet after one agent? It was downright _embarrassing. _I didn't do this for you, and every time you opened your mouth in there you made it harder for them to see my side." He rose from his seat to face her, his face hard and livid.

"Shepard-"

"You shouldn't have even _been_ in there," she continued, leaning across his desk with casual ease. He was taller than her, but she still managed to look down on him. "It's a military matter, not a political one. Blaming me and Anderson for your own failures won't make them give you a Council seat any faster, especially when you can't sit through _one_ meeting without bleating on about what you think they _owe_ you. It's pathetic."

"That's not-! You have no idea of-"

"No I think _you_ have no idea. As of about an hour ago I don't answer to you, and I've got far more pressing concerns then whether my actions make you _look_ good. I just came back from a mission where I had to step over the burnt bodies of dead civilians, so if it isn't pretty _damn_ obvious—" Udina flinched as her fist pounded on the desk, "—why hunting down Saren is my _only_ priority then I have nothing left to say to you." With that she turned and strode to the door. Williams and I looked at each other, and I was sure I had the exact same wide-eyed 'what the hell just happened?' expression on my face as she did.

"I am your _ambassador,_" Udina started, his lip curling back and his hands resting on the table as he regained his composure, "And—"

"And if you want to be my _councillor,_" Shepard interrupted, pausing at the door to turn back to him, brows low and stern, "you'd better get your shit together – stop telling the Council you deserve a seat and _show_ them instead. You can start by giving me your full, _unreserved_ support and by telling them you won't allow my mission to be compromised. I'll report in as soon I find something." And without a word of goodbye she had left the room.

I glanced at Udina when I thought I could get away with it. His expression was one part thoughtful to three parts _outraged_, but, I thought as Williams and I turned to follow Shepard, it had needed to be said.

I'd never met the ambassador before but his outbursts in front of the Council were ridiculous. It was like Shepard had said, he was a self-indulgent child that wanted something he wasn't ready for. She hadn't asked for advancement – or for a place in the Spectres, I'd noticed, it had just kind of _happened_– but she'd received it because she'd proven herself a thousand times over. Show, don't tell. The details of the conversation seemed lost on Chief Williams, though, for she bounded up behind Shepard and nudged her lightly on the shoulder.

"_Wow_, Commander. I can't believe he let you say all that, he looked _pissed_."

"That's his problem," Shepard replied, still walking towards the reception area of the embassies, "I didn't say anything I didn't think was true. I don't like people that try to grab power they don't deserve and can't handle. And he shouldn't have retired Captain Anderson."

That last part was quieter. It was odd, I thought, that she should have such a close bond with the Captain. Udina had called her Anderson's protégée, and unlike everyone else she reported to, she listened to him unreservedly and accepted his word without question. I knew they had a shared history, but beyond that she was a closed book. And a top-secret file.

"Still, there's benefits to being a Spectre, right?" Ashley continued, "I mean can you imagine if _I'd_ said that?"

By then we'd arrived in the main lounge area of the Human Embassy. Shepard stopped and turned to Williams with a sober expression. "You'd be in front of a disciplinary committee within a few hours, and they'd be right to send you down for insubordination," she replied bluntly, "but Udina can't exactly fire me from the Spectres, and I don't think he'd want to." She turned towards a window looking out on the presidium and folded her arms thoughtfully. "He may be a politician with eyes bigger than his stomach but he's not an idiot. He knows I'm right, and if he didn't have so many goddamn sycophants on his staff he'd know he was going about advancement the wrong way."

"You're right about that," I said, moving over to her side, "if he keeps pushing like this they'll think he cares more about advancing than he does about being part of galactic government."

"Exactly. It was stupid of him to act like me being a Spectre was a point in his favour, too. I mean I know it _is_, but I need him to act like I got the job because I'm _good_ enough, not because it was time for a human."

"_And_ he needs to respect the Spectres as the Council's right arm, nothing to do with him," a thought occurred to me, "Is that why you let him have it in there? So he'd back off and make them think he understands what happened today doesn't reflect on him?" She nodded sombrely, her lips still pursed together in a scowl as always, the skin light and puckered where a scar sliced from just under the right side of her nose to her chin.

"So he can stop acting like what happened makes him deserving of anything," she said softly, "and so he can start earning it for himself."

I was surprised at how firm a grasp she had on the situation. I didn't know why I hadn't expected her to be intelligent. Most special forces operatives had tactical minds that could find a weak spot in watertight defences without even engaging their brains, but beyond that it was hard to have a decent conversation. I didn't know why I'd expected her to be the same. Everything from the way she looked to her attitude to the fact that she was now the only human Spectre should have told me that she was exceptional in more than one regard.

She was attractive too, in an odd, striking sort of way. Her face was angular, with sharp, high cheekbones and feline eyes, but seeing as her brows were always drawn together in impatience or concentration of some kind, it was hard to tell. Besides, I didn't get intimidated easily but Commander Shepard was about as intimidating as they came. Even when you set aside the scars she wore like medals or the way her every word and gesture _radiated_ confidence, you knew that the only reason you were still alive was because she had no reason to kill you. It was hard to think of that much power and aptitude being wrapped up in one person even younger than I was. It was no wonder they'd chosen her.

She was nicer than I'd thought, though. And the fact that she was so impatient and had no time for fools made it feel pretty damn good that she took any time at all to talk to me. And…okay, _and_ she had the kind of face you couldn't help but want to _look_ at. 'Easy on the eyes' was a phrase for girls that looked like Williams, but _Shepard _was like a hurricane or an electric storm, beautiful and dusky and _dangerous_. She was unlike anyone I'd ever met before. I was good at keeping up appearances and never crossing the thin line between friendliness and fraternisation, but even so I'd caught myself looking at her from the corner of my eye more than once. I assured myself that it was hero worship, and that it would pass soon enough.

I'd been told earlier that she wanted to keep me on the crew for the mission, seeing as I'd handled myself well enough on Eden Prime. I'd tried very hard not to look as proud as I felt at that moment. I'd known there was a possibility she'd want to take on an entirely new crew for her first mission as a Spectre, and being told she wanted me as part of it had felt _good_. It wasn't just because I wanted a chance to make up for what happened with the beacon, but because I knew that whatever this mission held, it would be unforgettable to do it with someone like Shepard. On a mission like this there was no holding back, and it was an opportunity to see what I could _really _do when given the chance.

"So what's the plan?" Ashley piped up, leaning on the window ledge.

"The Normandy's only been ours for an hour or so, and they need a while to restock and change over a few crew members. The aliens we picked up are coming too, so they need a little time before shipping out." Shepard examined her omnitool briefly, "Joker says we'll be ready to leave in about ten hours, and the Citadel night cycle starts in three. Looks like we'll be bunking here."

"In the embassy again?" Ashley whistled approvingly, "damn, Commander, you're spoiling us,"

"Don't get used to it," she shot back with a smirk, "by the looks of things it'll get rough once we leave tomorrow. Until then do what you like, just be at the docking bay at 0700 Citadel time."

"Got any plans until lights out?" Williams asked with a raised eyebrow.

I knew the Commander wasn't exactly strict with protocol, but the question still seemed forward to me. For a moment I thought Shepard would say as much, but she seemed to reconsider. "I'm…actually going to my apartment to pick up a few things. Seeing as we probably won't have much downtime later."

Ashley's eyes went wide, "Wait, you have an _apartment_ here?"

That surprised me, but then I supposed Shepard seemed like such a drifter that the idea of her having any kind of permanent home surprised me. I tried to imagine what the place was like, and didn't get past the front door. I'd been around her for almost a week and it was still difficult to think of her as a real person, not some character in a vid. But then everyone needed a home, even war heroes and Spectres. I imagined hers had _a lot_ of guns.

"It's a piece of crap in the ass-end of the Burkala Ward," Shepard admitted, and I noticed her voice was different, more casual to the one she used on duty. I could get used to hearing it. "But it's got all my stuff in it so I'm pretty attached. Haven't been back there in almost a year, though, don't really get the chance. If I'm honest it's just a way to spend that big, fat spec-ops pay packet I get on something that isn't _guns_." Well, turns out I wasn't too far off.

"Wait a second," I jumped in as something occurred to me, "I've heard you tell _at least_ four people that it was your first time here."

She smirked at me knowingly, narrowed amber eyes gleaming, "Natives like to think they own the damn place, puts them at ease if they think you're a tourist." She turned back to the door and strode off, turning her head to tell us she'd be back at the embassy in a few hours before she disappeared around the corner.

Williams glanced over to me and said something about how she had a few messages to write, and as she left I remembered suddenly that her entire squad had just been mowed down in front of her. She hid it well.

Moving back to the window, I rested my hands on the sill and wondered what else this mission could bring, seeing as so much had already happened and, technically, it hadn't even started. Either way, I thought, it wouldn't be one I could soon forget.

I wish I'd known then how right I was.

oOoOoOo

The rooms at the embassy were much nicer than we were used to. Hell, actual beds were a lot nicer than we were used to. At least that's what I thought as I lay under the covers, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

I kept turning the day around in my head. So much had happened, and it all felt...sort of normal. I figured that was Shepard's effect. She dealt with everything as though it were the most natural thing in the world, as long as the bullshit was cut out. She easily handled getting a promotion most people would never dream of and being given a mission that could change everything, but Udina's posturing and the diplomacy that went into such decisions – often seen as a given – was intolerable.

Yes, Shepard was unlike anyone I'd ever met. When I finally listened to the growling of my stomach, decided refuelling was a better use of my time than not sleeping and made my way to the kitchen area, it didn't even seem odd that she should be there.

It was dark in the room, and all I saw was her silhouette against the window as she sat motionless with her legs crossed on the table. The lights of the citadel were dimmed for six 100-minute hours in the evening when the artificial sky darkened, and they gave her arms a blueish glow. She wore a dark, sleeveless top that showed off her toned arms and the tattoos that decorated them. Not for the first time I noticed the large, red 'X' adorning the left side of her neck. I wanted to ask, but knew better. I let out the breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding in and wandered over to the refrigerator where I found the remains of some diplomatic lunch stored away.

"So it's true what they say about biotics, right?" She said suddenly, in that same off-duty voice she'd used earlier, the hard edges filed off. I glanced up at her and we locked eyes. She was holding a mug in both hands. I'd assumed she'd wanted to be left alone and now I wished I'd said something before.

"I don't know, Shepard," I replied, suddenly feeling bold, "there's a lot of ugly rumours out there." She turned back to the window, the corner of her mouth twitching up.

"You're always eating. All the time." She sounded quiet, soft. It was strange, given what I'd seen earlier. "I guess I never really thought about what using up all that extra energy meant. Must be tough."

"It's not too bad," I said, fishing out a plate of impractically tiny sandwiches and moving over to her. "I'm sure a lot of people would kill to be able to eat like I do." She gave a half smile and took a sip of whatever was in her mug. I couldn't even hazard a guess as to whether it was tea or bourbon. I could smell something on the air, rich vanilla and spice, but I couldn't place it. "What are you doing up? If you don't mind my asking." She shook her head, making the freshly-washed bleached locks on top of her scalp tumble loose and fall over the cropped dark hair on the sides.

"It's fine. Just...a lot's happened today. I was picking up some guns, trying to work out what I'd need, but the truth is I have no idea. And then there's the aliens. Tali and Garrus. And Wrex. I was thinking earlier, I'm glad they're on board, but...it just makes me think this thing is bigger than anyone realises." Her eyes were locked on the presidium, her expression intensely focused, and I knew she'd been thinking about this for a while. "With the Shadow Broker, the geth, a _Matriarch._ Not even the Council know where it's heading. We're on the cutting edge, you know? I don't like surprises."

"I hear you," I replied, figuring that she probably just wanted to offload but that there were worse things I could do than listen to the insights of Commander Shepard, "Off the record, I think something is definitely wrong here. It all feels too easy. We practically ran into the aliens by accident, and they turned out to have exactly the information we needed. If it was so easy for us to find, why hadn't the Council already known?"

They'd been so unwilling to listen to us, even when there was a dead Spectre to show for it. It was something about the Citadel, I supposed. It was so easy to forget about the rest of the galaxy because it felt like it _was_ the entire galaxy. The more time people spent here, the less they seemed to care. Shepard was an exception.

"You're forgetting I'm a Spectre now," she said wryly, still staring out onto the lights of the citadel, "which means it's _supposed_ to be easy for me. We're the ones meant to find all the intel for the higher-ups first so they know what to tell their peons. It's sort of scary, isn't it?" The corners of her mouth turned up humourlessly, "How they're supposed to be the greatest authority in the galaxy when really they're just as fucking incompetent as everyone else?" I felt my eyebrows shoot up at that. "Shit," she caught herself immediately and glanced down at her mug in what I'd assume was embarrassment if it had been anyone else, "that was unprofessional, right? It's all off the record, just like you said."

"Don't hold back on my account, Commander," I insisted, enjoying the informality as I leaned back against the counter, just a few feet away from her, "For what it's worth, I agree with you. I'm glad they made you a Spectre, and I'm glad they're actually doing something about Saren, but I can't help but think this whole thing is just...bigger." I realised I'd been trying to say something that sounded smart, and I ended up just sounding foolish. I tried again, "I mean the kind of information Saren was after. What would make him go rogue? Agents like him don't just turn. There has to be something else, but it's like they don't want to see it."

"Would you?" Her eyes locked with mine, suddenly intense. It occurred to me that I was having a conversation with one of the most celebrated heroes in the Alliance, and she seemed absorbed. The sculpted bones of her face were illuminated strangely by the light through the window, and I wondered if the stab I felt in my chest was what being starstruck felt like. "I mean it's hard enough for them to believe their pet Spectre defected to the Geth, let alone that he might have a good _reason_. Easier to paint him as a lone nutcase and leave it at that. Now it's my problem which makes it the _Alliance's_ problem." She waved her arm vaguely as she turned back to the scene outside, "Pass the blame around."

"Seems like they _should_ see it coming, though, right? Why wouldn't they want to acknowledge it?"

"Look at that, Alenko." She jutted her chin in the direction of the window, towards the pulsing lights of the Citadel and the awe-inspiring arms of its wards. I moved my eyes from the sparrow tattooed by her collarbone, bathed in sunlight. "I mean really _look_ at it. It's the centre of this entire fucking galaxy, and it works because we _say_ it works. They stay in charge because they've always been in charge, and because they've managed to cultivate a peace that may not be galaxy-wide but is still pretty damn impressive."

She took a sip of whatever was in her mug, "But it's delicate, you know? All it would take is the Citadel being compromised in some way to break the galaxy in two. It wouldn't even take that, all it needs is a slip, any indication that they're not completely in control of it all. There's that saying, that any society is only four missed meals away from total anarchy. I like that. Shows no matter how far we've come, we're still animals, and we still need peace and stability to stay civilised. The most devastating shit always happens when we take something for granted and it just stops working. Saren is just an anomaly, a symbol of rebellion that they want me to crush. That's fine, because when I put a bullet in his head he'll deserve it, but if there's something _bigger_ out there? If there's something we can't control, big enough to make him cross the _Council_? I don't know. It doesn't take a lot for people to panic and start forgetting how to obey orders. Maybe that's what happened to him. Maybe _he_ saw something and panicked. Either way, if I were them I wouldn't admit anything was wrong either. It's not my job to question."

There was a beat where I just stared at her, trying to keep my face from showing the wonder I felt. The word '_Reapers_' was left unsaid.

"Wow, Commander," I was dumbstruck by that monologue. There was even more going on in her head than I'd given her credit for. "I didn't know they _allowed_ independent thought in the special forces." It was a gamble, but it paid off when she laughed. Not a full-on laugh, but she grinned and her shoulders shook in a way that made me feel ridiculously smug. When she smiled, even from the side, the gloom was chased from her face and she looked...normal, even with the hair, the scars and the ink. In the low blue lights of the evening cycle, she was beautiful. I realised with a start that I was checking out my commanding officer and chastised myself for being a total idiot. I wasn't stupid _or_ arrogant enough to follow that thought anywhere.

"That's okay, Alenko," she said in response, "if you ever tell anyone what I said, I can just kill you. Since I'm a Spectre no one'll give a crap." Her expression was serious, and for a brief moment I was concerned, and then she turned her head ever so slightly and looked at me with humour dancing in her eyes and a smirk on her lips, "Unless I'm already dead, and you're just telling everyone that I was right all along. I could handle that." I chuckled.

"I'll keep it in mind." She took another sip of her drink and placed the now empty mug down before uncrossing her legs and sliding off the counter. "I can leave if you like," I said quickly, looking down at the plate of crumbs I held. I barely remembered eating. "I didn't mean to interrupt you or anything, I-"

"It's fine, I'm just... I think I'll go to bed. Big day tomorrow." She paused at the door and looked at me over her shoulder. "But feel free to tell me about any other...concerns that need airing. About the mission, I mean. May need you to keep me grounded if it all gets a little weird." That kind of openness seemed out of character for her, but then I barely knew her at all. I hoped it wasn't a one-time thing.

"I'd like that, Commander," I said, unable to stop the smile from spreading over my face, "Goodnight." She made a wave-like gesture with her hand, and just like that she was gone and I was left holding a plate of demolished sandwiches, wondering what to think.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

I sat down hard on the bed and asked myself what the hell _that_ was. I didn't have many reservations about rank and regulations, but I'd practically poured my goddamn heart out to my lieutenant less than six hours after I got my first real crew. I'd told him all about the worries and reservations I had about this mission, and _why_? Because he'd wandered in at two in the morning looking to refuel, and I was _bored_?

It had made me feel better at the time, though. There was something about Alenko, maybe it was his voice, that told me he was on my side. Maybe he'd give me the benefit of the doubt and assume that I had some kind of idea what I was doing here._  
_

Being a Spectre had gone to my head, clearly. It was why I'd yelled at Udina, that little fucking worm who thought he could just reach out and take something he hadn't earned. It was why I hadn't thought of our respective ranks when I told my LT that he could come and chat with me whenever he damn well pleased. And I'd meant it too.

_Shit_, I thought as I pulled the blanket up to my shoulders and tried to shut out the pictures that flashed in my head of things I couldn't understand. Explosions and machinery and death and _noise_. I should have just stayed there to talk to him. It would have been easier than trying to sleep.

I counted back from a hundred, and told myself the pictures meant nothing.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Simple** – Kaidan finds working with a Spectre is more fun than he thought. Shepard finds that she actually enjoys having a crew around, and one crew member in particular keeps crossing her mind.


	5. Simple

**Chapter 5: Simple**

_Kaidan_

We were all going to die. I was sure of it now. Even as the Mako somehow managed to stay on the ledge as its rear wheels skidded off the cliff as we turned a corner, I knew that it was only a matter of time before a slip up sent us tumbling to our deaths.

And Therum had _lava_ pits. Even if we survived the fall there's no way we'd survive that. Shepard didn't seem to care, though. In fact, she seemed to be _enjoying_ herself. She let out a whoop as the Mako landed with a _crunch_ on a geth trooper, and there was definitely a smirk on her face as she turned to look out of the other observation hatch.

"Colossus!" I heard her bark as she swung the vehicle around. I almost flew out of my chair and wished the seatbelts were tighter. Garrus had his head stuck up the gun turret and had been struggling to keep balance before. Now I heard muffled swearing as he fired three shots before a loud beeping took over, and I realised with a start that the gun had overheated. I heard her mutter 'hang on' before accelerating at speed, and I hazarded a glance out the front port where I saw a colossus charging up its main attack, blue lighting crackling around its head.

In the split second before it fired, she rammed it at full speed and knocked it back. The impact rattled the Mako, but the colossus was short one leg and was struggling to aim again. With the turret ready to go, she kicked the Mako into reverse and Garrus fired away.

I glanced out the back port and saw the edge of a cliff rapidly approaching, "Shepard—"

"I know!" she called, her eyes still dead ahead as the colossus angled its head towards us and started to charge up its attack once more.

"The cliff!" I tried again.

"I see it." The colossus fired. In seconds we'd be off the edge.

"But you're—" A rocket took out the colossus and with inches to spare Shepard swung the Mako around, back wheels swerving off the edge of the cliff, and I watched as the blue light flew _just past_ the window at the front. Garrus tumbled to the floor, that last manoeuvre knocking him off balance, and I remembered to breathe as the Mako came to a halt.

She turned back to me, her eyes bright with excitement, "See? Nothing to worry about. I'm a good driver."

I was stunned into silence, but Garrus wasn't. He spluttered a laugh as he clambered to his feet, one hand resting on the turret hatch, "There are a lot of words I could use to describe your driving, Shepard, but '_good_' isn't one of them."

She scowled and gestured at the turret, "If you hadn't overheated the gun, I wouldn't have to—"

"That gun hasn't been tuned up in what looks like _decades_," he went on, "and I was talking about how you almost killed us _four times_ before the geth even showed up,"

"Almost killed isn't the same thing as killed," she said matter-of-factly.

"You could at least try not to look like you're enjoying it so much," I said as I rearranged my twisted seatbelt and pulled it tighter.

She rolled her eyes as she shifted the Mako back into gear it trundled down the path, "Oh come on, you're soldiers not schoolgirls. If you're well enough to _complain_, then clearly you're both fine."

"Amen to that," Ashley's voice crackled over the commlink with the Normandy, and I bit back a laugh. Shepard glanced back, a triumphant glint in her eye, and I knew she'd heard me.

"Just be glad they don't let me fly the Normandy," she called, and I could practically hear the feral grin on her lips.

"I could handle _that_," I said, unable to stop myself from smiling back, "At least there's no _gravity_ in space."

As if to punish me she accelerated over a bumpy section of the path, making me grab on to the sides of the vehicle for support.

"Are we there yet?" she spoke into the comm link, "All I see is a solid rock face up ahead, we've got to be close,"

"Nearly," Ashley replied from her position in orbit, tracking the Mako on Therum using the Normandy's advanced scanners, "but there's an obstruction ahead. You'll need to continue on foot for now,"

I heard Garrus breathe a sigh of relief and I held in a chuckle. We were on a life-or-death rescue mission, I realised that, but Shepard's ease with the situation made it seem like no big deal. That was why we were in the middle of a war zone and I was trying to wipe the smile from my face.

"You heard the lady," Shepard said as she pulled the Mako into a corner and unhooked her harness, "move out."

That was when the fun _really_ began. Fighting geth wasn't like fighting people. Each one had about as much intelligence as a Varren, Shepard said, and at least you didn't need to advance by stepping over organic bodies bleeding out.

But that was _before_ we reached the dig site, when out of nowhere a colossus landed in front of us, dust rippling out in shockwaves. As it whirred into life, geth troops swarmed over the clearing. Without a vehicle-mounted turret, a colossus would be _hard_ to kill.

We dived into cover, Garrus on the other side, and she glanced around the corner, her eyes taking in the whole of the battlefield in a split second. Then she looked up, at the scaffolding above us, and a smirk spread over her face, a look that said she loved it when things got a little complicated. She picked up her pistol and flexed her fingers around it, a musician with her instrument.

"Keep 'em busy," she muttered as she moved past me and swung her arm up to grab the lowest rung of the scaffolding. As she hauled herself up she took a moment to shoot a hopper flying in her direction.

Well, at least I was good at taking orders. Garrus bunkered down behind a crate and sniped at the primes as best he could while I drew their fire from behind a barrier, throwing small shockwaves around the side when I got a chance. When the colossus fired I could feel it shaking the ground around me as it missed by a few feet. Two hoppers fell right in front of me with her bullets in their heads, but I kept my eyes forward. At least _she_ was advancing – Garrus and I were pinned down by that thing.

The colossus was recharging but Garrus saw a chance. He swerved out from behind the crate and got three clean shots right in the main lights of a geth prime, its whole body shaking violently as it crumpled to the ground. I covered him as he got back to shelter, but the colossus had already targeted the crate in front of him with an attack that would reduce it to splinters. I shouted a warning and raised my gun but at that moment Shepard reappeared like an avenging angel, leaping down from the scaffolding and landing on the colossus's back, wedging her gun between the folds of its armour and firing away.

It moved to try and throw her off, but she held onto its neck and pulled it back as it fired, the blue bolt of energy just skimming under the scaffold. Garrus and I blasted away at its unprotected belly while she kept her balance on its back, even as its legs clawed up at her and she fired close-range at the remaining geth primes. When they shot back at her she dodged with extraordinary agility and they hit the colossus instead. It was hard to concentrate on taking out the stragglers when all I wanted to do was watch her work. Turned out all those things they'd said about N7s were true. Well, _almost_ all.

Suddenly the colossus began to charge up its main attack again and threw its body forward. It all happened so _fast_. She lost her grip and her legs skidded off, but she hooked her arm around its neck and swung her body around so she was staring right into the gathering orb of blue energy it had for a head. Without hesitation she took her pistol, aimed it right at the centre of the light, and fired as she braced her feet against the base of its neck. I heard a _chink_, saw blue energy running along the cracks in its armour and at that moment I remembered what happened when you killed a colossus.

I heard her shout my name as she kicked off from its neck to launch herself backwards, and I threw an arm out as I created a barrier around her, trying to pull her towards me with my other hand controlling a warp field. The colossus exploded, taking out the remaining ground units, but my eyes were on her as she arced through the air, engulfed in blue fire that absorbed most of the impact. Dirt flew up as she skidded to a halt, one hand dragging across the ground. When she looked back there was a fierce, hungry grin on her face, the kind that revelled in the destruction at her fingertips. I couldn't look away as she got to her feet in one fluid movement. I only managed to break eye contact when she raised her gun, fired, and a geth hopper fell from the scaffolding.

I looked back to her in surprise and her amber eyes were narrowed, an amused smirk on her dirt-smeared face as she approached.

"Eyes on the _geth_, Alenko," she quipped.

I chuckled breathlessly. She was incredible – the battlefield was her playground and we were just along for the ride. It was one thing when I _knew_ what she was capable of, it was another to see a glimpse of it right before my eyes.

As we walked to the dig site, past the twisted carcass of the colossus, it occurred to me that she hadn't had to _order_ me to protect her with a barrier, I'd just _known_ and she'd expected me to follow through. I wasn't used to extending my biotic reach to anyone else in my squad. Normally I kept up a supporting role, but with Shepard…something about the way she fought made me want to push myself and my abilities to their very limits, just to keep up. I couldn't stop thinking about that look she'd given me as she landed, teeth bared, eyes narrowed, hungry, ecstatic and _alive_, and she'd been looking at _me_, as if to say I was in on it too. I wanted to find that kind of joy in my own skills. Push caution to the side for once.

I flexed my hands, igniting two tiny orbs of biotic energy that swirled around each other. What _else_ could we do?

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

I didn't know what they were talking about, I thought as the doors to my cabin closed behind me, I was an _excellent_ driver.

Just because Alenko and Vakarian drove like retired civilians and couldn't handle a little tumbling around in the Mako was no reflection on me. Driving that thing was like trying to steer a sea serpent, anyway, and I'd _got_ us there, hadn't I?

I stripped off the bodysuit I wore under armour and stepped into the tiny shower. Maybe a small part of me knew I drove like a lunatic, just as Alenko had said, but sometimes that was the only way to get shit _done_. I turned the heat up to just below max and felt purged of every decision made during the mission as soon as the stream of water hit my face.

An idea came to me: it wasn't my driving that was the problem, it was those crappy seatbelts that made the passengers rattle around in the back. It was a tough piece of kit, and I wasn't afraid to make it do what it was made for, that was all.

Self-justification was a powerful tool, I thought with a smirk as I raked my hands through the strip of hair on top of my head that was almost long enough to tie back. It was the only reason reason I didn't have alarm bells ringing at how informal I'd become with this crew of mine. The one I was supposed to be _in charge_ of.

I'd always been something of a lone agent. For the past few years I'd jumped aboard ships here and there for a mission and never stayed long enough to get to know anyone past first names. I' always enjoyed being able to operate alone, and the part of me that liked depending on myself also liked never putting down roots, never staying anywhere for too long or getting too friendly.

The strong, heady scent of my shampoo hit me pleasantly as I rubbed it into my scalp, vanilla, aniseed, and a base that was spicy and rich. It was a luxury to smell of something other than blood, sweat and engines.

This was different – I had my own crew, now. My own _ship_. Two thirds of my squadmates weren't even Alliance. The rules and procedures I'd got used to didn't apply up here. I was working with professionals, people I could joke around with on the Normandy and _order_ around in combat without a glitch, or at least it seemed that way. I was still testing the waters, but it had been so _easy_ to slip into the role carved out for me at the head of this band of misfits that it was hard to believe it had taken me so long to get my own crew. Really, it was what I'd wanted ever since I joined the Alliance. I liked the fact that they respected my experience and my knowledge, not just my rank. And they were good people, too. I'd spent the time I had free getting to know them, and I liked what I found.

Garrus was on the cusp of something, I thought, and just needed a push in the right direction. He was competent as hell but had no idea who he was or what he wanted. That was fine, though. He was dedicated to the mission and did everything I asked without question. There was room here for him to grow. Wrex was…well, he was a krogan. That covered most but not all of it. We'd spoken about the genophage briefly when I'd found myself in the armoury. It wasn't every day you met a krogan as articulate as he was, and I knew I could stand to learn a few things. Tali was, according to Engineer Adams, the best thing that had happened to the Normandy's engines since Joker came aboard. She was still very young, but having her here turned out to be incredibly useful whenever I wanted to know anything about the geth. The word 'Reapers' still sent chills down my spine. I _hated_ unknown quantities.

Ashley was young too. Younger than me, but only by a year or so. She clearly hadn't spent much time around aliens and had some funny ideas, but she had a good head on her shoulders and wasn't afraid to call me out, which I liked. Most people were too terrified of me to question anything I did, and that led to ruin, I knew. Plus, she liked guns just as much as I did. Wasn't often I found someone like that who wasn't also a hardened, middle-aged mercenary with more scar tissue than skin. I could get used to making conversation with her as I checked and re-checked every gun I had, with the sounds of Garrus tinkering with the Mako in the background.

Alenko…Alenko was interesting. I think he enjoyed the lack of formality on the Normandy, and he was certainly starting to loosen up around me. He was smart as hell, too, which was a plus. In the week we'd been on the Normandy, I'd found myself talking to him more than the others, but reasoned that was because while they were hidden away around the ship, _he_ was stationed close to my quarters. And he was good conversation. He was a perfect poster boy for the Alliance – tall, dark, good-looking and dedicated, with an easy smile and buckets of loyalty. He had an opinion on every topic, and a bright side for every complaint I had. I wondered if he was always like that or if it was just a consequence of the lax way I was running this ship.

I slicked my hair back as I turned off the water and groped outside the shower for a towel.

I liked to work alone, sure. That didn't mean I liked to _be_ alone all the time. And Alenko had a way of just _being_ there without being intrusive, radiating a quiet self-assurance. Silences weren't awkward, he'd just look up, catch my eye and give a small, knowing smile, and get on with whatever it was he was doing. I'd be at my locker – my quarters were big enough for a cramped shower but not for storing my hardsuit – and I'd mumble some comment, he'd give clever reply, and before I knew it half an hour had passed and neither of us were pretending to work any more. It was…well, it was what it was. I knew I wasn't exactly living up to my hardass, take-no-prisoners reputation, but now that I was recognised as a Spectre it seemed redundant anyway. A child's fantasy of power and respect. What I had here was _real_.

I wiped a hand across the steamed-up mirror and stared at myself, wondering how they'd made a ship like the Normandy positively _hum_ with technology but hadn't managed to fit in heated mirrors.

And he didn't ask stupid questions I didn't want to answer. He was good company, good conversation. There was a lot to be said for that.

I brushed my hand over the side of my head, enjoying the feeling of the short, dark hairs, water droplets clinging to the tips. They were growing out. I'd meant to shave the whole lot off before I went on a mission a few months ago. The bleach blonde hair by my ears kept getting stuck in the visor I used at the time. Something had made me leave the mohawk in the middle, though, and I still liked it.

That was the thing about the Ns – each of us was an individual, with our own strengths and weaknesses, like a package. If a mission called for me, it called for something only _I_ could do. They didn't much care about the ink on my arms or how ridiculous they thought my hair looked as long as I could get the job done. I'd got used to that kind of trust, the lack of regulation. Maybe that was why I liked how informal the crew on the Normandy was. Maybe that was why I'd been staring at the mirror for almost a minute, still picturing Alenko at his console, and didn't immediately rebuke myself.

Self-justification was a powerful tool. He was good conversation, and he was easy on the eyes, that was justification enough. I was an adult, for fuck's sake.

I pulled on a set of casuals from my Alliance-stocked closet and left for the medbay, not even looking to see if he was there. I was sure the asari we'd picked up would have enough to say to keep me occupied.

oOoOoOo

Liara was _intense_. Well-meaning, but she certainly didn't have a talent for putting people at ease. Or maybe it was just me. The way her huge, round eyes stared right at me with naked wonder made me incredibly uneasy.

Everything she'd _said_ had made me uneasy. I solved other people's problems. I went in, I did the job, I got out clean. I didn't know what to think if the whole thing suddenly became _my_ problem. I didn't want to think about that possibility. When I'd spoken to Alenko in the embassy about the whole thing being larger than we all knew, I thought I was just being dramatic. He'd made it seem like a distant possibility, one which, if it did happen, would happen to _all_ of us, not just the one who'd apparently had the knowledge of the ancients forced into her brain by that goddamn beacon.

I didn't like being at the centre of things. I liked to be a shadow in the corner, the left hand of something larger than myself, a supporting agent in events that unfolded under someone else's watch, this time with a crew to back me up. That was why the Spectres had suited me perfectly. Being a vessel for this kind of ridiculously important information didn't suit me _at all_.

I found myself wanting to escape for a moment, to wander around the ship, get lost in its caverns, but of course this was the Normandy, not a cruiser, and there was barely a few square feet of it that wasn't also someone's workstation. I didn't want to go back to my room, though. It was a cold, cramped, windowless box with a bed I still wasn't comfortable sleeping in. Sleep brought dreams, and the dreams I'd been having lately were…painful. Instead, I found an empty corner behind the life support systems where a large, rounded window looked out onto the blackness of space and the hauntingly beautiful trail left by the Normandy's engines. The lights were low, I barely saw my own reflection in the glass. There were billions upon billions of stars, burning away with no care at all for what was happening on this ship, or what it meant for the rest of the galaxy.

I always liked places like this. Far away from everyone else, it was so easy to forget where you were or why you were there. That was something I needed after Dr T'Soni had made it her mission in the few hours she'd been on board to inform me that now I didn't just have to stay alive for my own personal benefit, but because the ancient knowledge of a dead civilization was now kicking around in my head. Apparently I was remarkable for having survived. I didn't need her to tell me that. I'd always been remarkable. I was born to survive.

I wanted a cigarette, or at least a _drink_, but I had neither. Instead, I calmed myself with the emptiness of space, pressing my cheek to the cold, hard glass. I knew it wasn't glass, but the windows in my house when I was a young child definitely were. They were old, filthy and cracked, but I used to press my palms against them and feel the city's heartbeat as it went on through the night, never slowing down, never mindful of the chaos swirling within.

I didn't miss that house. Only the windows.

I had no idea how long I'd been there, in my own little world, but he found me eventually. He hadn't been looking, but somehow his journey through the Normandy had taken him right to where I was.

I should have known Alenko wouldn't scare as easily as the others. It should have been obvious in the way he looked at me. I was so used to either hero worship or naked fear. Once people saw what I could do, saw the scars on my face or the ink on my body, they could never look at me like I was just another person, just like them. I was an anomaly, which I supposed was true. I'd always been different. Better, even. Or so I was told.

Alenko...he seemed different too. Maybe he'd been intimidated right at the start, but when I opened my eyes after Eden Prime to see that look of concern and relief etched on his face, I knew he wasn't there because he was scared of me. And then he had spoken to me like he expected me to be as friendly and warm as he was. That had taken me by surprise, and what had been even more surprising was that I found myself responding in kind. He was so easy to talk to. Uncomplicated, without an agenda. And so when he walked past me and started in surprise, I found myself telling him he didn't have to go, that I wouldn't mind some company, and I found to my surprise that I was telling the truth.

His voice was low, raspy, and his tone informal. Maybe that was because I wasn't in uniform – the only thing that showed I was Alliance was the faded N7 logo on my top. We talked about the mission, about how things had gone from weird to crazy really fast and how neither of us knew how it would end up. And then, because he asked, I told him about the Blitz.

He said he'd seen a leaked vid on the extranet not too long after it happened, and I knew the one he meant. It was leaked security cam footage, and though I hadn't known it at the time, the camera was aimed right at where I'd bunkered down after the Batarians had breached the building on Elysium where we'd evacuated the colonists. They were safely locked up, and I had what was left of my militia in and around the central room as a last line of defence if I fell. I almost did.

The vid opened with me pulling a scrap of fabric into a tourniquet with my teeth as I injected a thick mixture of adrenaline and specialised medigel straight into my veins. If I hadn't found a bag of stimulant shots in the facility's medbay, I'd have been dead on the first day. And then the vid showed me taking them down, grabbing their ammo as I advanced and retreating back to the same spot, over and over again as they came in waves. It was an obvious killzone, but I'd heard their radio chatter. They couldn't get around me, and their bosses couldn't believe that they couldn't get _through_ me either, so they kept trying, and I kept killing. I lost count after the first few hours. After the Blitz I stopped trying to keep score altogether.

I remembered that first day. I'd known I wouldn't live to see the sunrise, but I'd never felt so alive. When the Alliance reinforcements finally came, I barely noticed. Three showers later I still hadn't got all the Batarian blood out of my hair, so I shaved my head again. They just _loved_ it when I showed up to get my Star of Terra looking like a convict.

"I wasn't doing it for them, you know," I told him at last, pushing past the propaganda and deciding that if he wanted to know what it had been like, I'd damn well _tell_ him. I didn't trust easily, especially not people whose eyes and face screamed _trust me_ in the way that Alenko's did. But something about him told me he was honest, and that was enough. So I told him. "I wasn't being a hero, I knew if I held the Batarians off I would save the colonists, but that wasn't _why_ I did it. I barely thought of them, weird as it sounds. They were like…an extra parameter to the mission."

"Then why did you do it?" He asked, dark, straight brows lowered inquisitively as he leaned back against the opposite wall, arms folded. "For yourself? I mean they'd probably have killed you too if you hadn't held them off."

"I guess I did it...to see if I could. I love a challenge, that was no different. It was incredible. It just…_worked._ We lost six men, that was to be expected with an enemy that size, but otherwise it was the most exhilarating 38 hours of my _life_. I'd never felt like it before. Like there was no where else I could've possibly been but _there_." I glanced up to see him staring thoughtfully back at me. I'd expected someone with his moral compass – someone described as 'incorruptible' in his file – to think worse of me for what I said, but I didn't see that in his face. I didn't know why I kept talking. "Look, I didn't want them to _die_, and I'd have been pissed if the slavers got through, but I couldn't think of it like that at the time. Too distracting. It's like when someone's got a kid as a hostage – you can't care about the kid, because then all you're thinking about is the damn _kid_, not how you can end it. When I was on the ground, for the time in that vid, the only thing going through my head was what the next five minutes would be, and how I'd survive."

"Did you think you were going to die?"

"Of course. But I've thought that so many times before. And every time I've been so sure that _that_ was it. When my number's finally up I think I'll be...calm. I was calm then, too." Looking out at the stars, it was easy to forget who I was talking to, and why what I was saying wasn't exactly Commander-Lieutenant grade banter. I tried to lighten things up, but the Blitz was hardly a cheery topic. "The civilians weren't calm at all. So much _screaming_, but most weren't even hurt, they were just hysterical. We had to get them into that central room just so I could hear myself think."

"You still saved them all," he said, effortlessly side-stepping my diversion, "civilian casualties were tiny considering what could have happened."

"I guess I did, didn't I? That's why they recommended me for Special Forces, you know. Once I got the Star of Terra they fast-tracked me through the programme soon as they could." Anderson's written recommendation had helped too. Being the first graduate of the N7 programme gave his word a lot of weight.

"Is that standard practice?" He flexed his broad shoulders absent-mindedly, and I remembered that just because he wasn't a walking tank didn't mean the man in front of me wasn't still a marine. He was well-built, and _tall_.

"When you do what I did it is," I replied with a shrug. Alenko was good too, though. Too good to still be a lieutenant. "And don't let the whole 'elite' thing fool you. They're not _that_ good. You could get in if you applied, easy."

"Me?" I had a sharp ear for false modesty, but heard none of it from him, which surprised me seeing as he had very little to be modest about. "I'm still just a lieutenant, I don't think—"

"You shouldn't be just a lieutenant." I didn't want to slip into my 'commander' voice, but seeing as my life revolved around being one, it was difficult, "You're good at what you do, Alenko. Real good."

"Thanks, Shepard," he said at last, finally accepting praise where praise was due, "coming from you that means a lot. But seeing what you did today with the colossus…hell, I'd never think to do something like that. I'd never have thought anyone could pull it off either, not until I saw you _doing_ it."

"That little stunt?" I gave a snort and thought back to that moment, the rush of adrenaline and endorphins that came from knowing you were _better_ than your enemies and proving it. That was fun. It was especially fun when I didn't get a full colossus death-blast right in the face because Alenko had read my mind and shielded me from the worst of it. "That was nothing. That shit's easy to pull off when you know for a _fact_ that you can do it."

I turned to him and took in his thoughtful expression, eyes dark and shadowed by his brows. "I know exactly what I'm capable of," I continued, "and I _know_ I can do pretty much anything as long as I have a gun in my hand and shoes on my feet. People always want to know my secret, but that's all there is to it." I flexed my shoulders and brought my elbows up to rest on the ledge behind me, "Confidence bordering on outright arrogance."

He laughed at that, a self-conscious little chuckle that said he didn't really believe me. "There must be more to it than that, Shepard. If I thought that way I'm pretty sure I'd be dead before too long."

"Maybe," I cocked my head, "Or maybe you'd find out you're better than you think. Your biotics pack a hell of a punch when you need them to, I just wish you were willing to use them more. _That's_ where your strength is." I meant it, too. He'd surprised me when a krogan battlemaster blocked our exit on Therum. While I took care of the krogan he held his own in a firefight against the geth force that almost had me concerned for my squad. He was a fast learner, and he didn't even need me to tell him where I wanted him to be, he was just _there_, covering Garrus and I as we ploughed through their main units. But it was like he was coasting along, relying on being good instead of pushing himself to be _brilliant_. "You'd be a force to be reckoned with if you'd just stop holding back."

He didn't seem to know what to say to that. His brow wrinkled up in thought and when he looked back up at me his eyes were uncertain, questioning, and he dodged the compliment entirely, "Have you worked with many biotics before?"

"Why?"

He shrugged, arms still crossed, "I was just wondering if you were used to having one in a supporting role or as something else."

"I've never worked close enough with one to care, but I didn't like the ones I _have_ worked with. Bunch of arrogant assholes who thought they were gods because they could throw shit across the room. But if you disable their amp they're nothing." By _disable_ I meant 'find the shallow ridge at the back of their neck, dig in a blade – fingers worked too if you had a strong grip – and yank the fucker out', but he didn't need to know that. "They never had to learn. Not like with you. It's like you're afraid to use what you've got, so you rely on being a decent infantryman when you could be a _damn_ good biotic. Just seems a shame, that's all."

"That's…nice of you to say, Commander," he looked sheepish, embarrassed, almost. The kind of self-awareness and humility he radiated, the uncertainty, it didn't fit with how he looked. He was handsome, chiselled, and was certainly _built_ like a marine on duty. By all rights he should have been downright _cocky_, not looking at me as if I was fabricating compliments for his benefit. All I was doing was making sure I had a good squad on the ground, anyway. That meant pushing them to their limits. "I guess I do hold back, but being an L2 it's hard to know when you'll get a spike and use too much force. And it's hard to keep myself calm enough to concentrate on it in the middle of a fight."

"But that's not the only reason, is it? There's been more than one opportunity for you to let loose and tear the Geth to pieces, moderation be damned, but you haven't." He opened his mouth as if to reply, and shut it again. In the low lights of the ship, he looked hesitant. I didn't care. Other people's issues were a lot more fun than my own, and I wanted to see what he could do if he got to let loose. I wanted to have my very own biotic to play with, see what kind of crazy-ass moves we could pull off together.

"Look Alenko," I started, glancing down at my boots as I scuffed them together absent-mindedly, "feel free to tell me where to go, I'm just curious. And if we're going after Saren I need the very best people on my side, so if there's a reason you're not happy to throw everything you have into this mission then spill. My bet's on a girl."

He didn't school his face fast enough to hide the flicker of surprise.

"What, really?" I said, self-impressed, "I'm right?" He did his best to hide the embarrassed smirk that spread over his lips, but Alenko clearly had a terrible poker face. If it was a glare I probably wouldn't have pushed, but…I was having fun, for some reason. I tried not to think about it too much.

"Let's see," I went on, "You were a kid, maybe a teenager?" He tried not to give anything away, but there was a smile tugging at his lips that told me I was close. "There was a girl you liked, your biotics manifested, and they fucked it all up. Am I close?"

"…okay, you got me there," the way his smirk broke into a guilty laugh was satisfying, the look of someone who had been surprised and caught out, and Kaidan had a warm, _husky_ laugh. He should definitely be on a recruitment vid somewhere. The queues at the offices would be around the block. "That's pretty close, actually, but it sounds stupid when you say it."

"Well I'm all ears if you want to make it sound _less_ stupid, Alenko." I didn't know why I was pushing, I didn't know why I was interested. By all rights I shouldn't have cared. I didn't care, really. I was just curious. "C'mon, fess up."

He started out reluctantly. Kaidan didn't seem like the type to talk about himself openly, but all it took was a push before he was telling me all about his stint in brain camp, the Alliance's horrific record on early biotic research, his theories on intentional-accidental exposure, and, finally, the instructor he'd killed and the girl he'd lost. She sounded kind, quiet, like him. She reminded me of someone from a long time ago, a girl whose face I'd buried under a pile of Alliance medals and commendations. A girl I'd stopped remembering every time someone called me by the name I'd taken from her and made my own. A cold, prickly feeling crawled up my body, the feeling of remembering some past, secret shame that still existed no matter how hard you worked to forget it.

Alenko was still talking. If he'd seen the unconscious thinning of my lips or the tightening of my jaw he didn't give any sign.

"Hell, maybe I was trying to be noble or something, but I still lost control, and I still killed him. Of course it was the first time I'd killed someone, and for that someone to be a big, bad turian like Vyrnus…it terrified me at the time. It made me realise how much power I have control over as a biotic, and how easy it would be to _lose_ that control. I hated him, but I didn't want him _dead_. I can't imagine how much worse it would have been if it was someone I cared about, or someone I was responsible for. It's always at the back of my mind."

"But that happened years ago, you're a marine, surely you're not still hung up on killing – hell, I've _seen_you kill."

"I know, Shepard," he looked right at me, his eyes dark and rich with rapt attention, "And it's ancient history, believe me, I'm fully functional, don't need to get over it because I'm over it. But I don't think you ever forget the first time you take a life, or the first time you mess up. That's stuck with me."

I remembered my first kill. It was the first time I'd fired a gun. I was nine. I'd never even seen his face. I stepped over Calvern's wounded body, picked up the gun as his attacker ran away and blew the guy's brains out. One shot. His friend didn't make it out either. Double-tap to the chest as he ran up behind me. The pistol's kickback made my wrists ache for a week afterwards, but I hadn't noticed at the time. I still remembered how it felt, in that one moment, a perfect adrenaline rush where time slowed to a crawl and there was no wind, no nothing, just a target, a gun, and my finger squeezing the trigger.

"I guess so," I replied, stuffing the memories back down to where they belonged.

"But look…I'm sorry for going on about it. I don't normally…well, I don't talk about this kind of stuff a lot."

"I asked, didn't I?" I shot him a smirk as I looked back outside to the stars littering the galaxy. A beam of light fell across his face and in the window I saw his reflection. He was looking at me strangely, like he was fascinated, and a faint smile spread across his lips but it was strained, like he was trying to hide it but couldn't.

"Yeah, you did," he said, "Do I get to quiz you about your teenage years now?"

"You already got a war story, and it'll take a lot more than asking nicely for you to hear about that shit." I kept the tone light, but I remembered what it was like to be seventeen and that was anything _but_. Shattered inside, no one to trust, used-up and ignored. I closed myself off from the world, all I had was myself, a gun and a plan. They underestimated me. Everyone always did. Not any more.

"Can't blame me for trying, right?" He asked in a voice laced with amusement. I didn't answer his question, instead I stared down at my folded arms and thought of all the spiteful things my younger self would spit if she could see me now. She barely know how to enjoy herself without a gun in her hand, she'd think talking to crew about _feelings_ was the dumbest thing ever, and the very _idea_ of Kaidan Alenko would have her rolling her eyes to the heavens. She was always on edge, eyes out for an escape route, always mindful of everything going to shit, never forgiving herself for anything. I was glad I wasn't her now.

"I meant what I said earlier, you know?" I started after a while, trying to shift my mind away from those dark thoughts, "About you. I wish you'd fire up your biotics more often, just cut loose. I just think it's pretty badass that you can do all that stuff."

He chuckled awkwardly, and for a second I thought I'd made him uncomfortable. "Shit, Commander, you'll make me blush. I'll hang on to that thought, though. And…thanks for the pep talk."

"That's what I'm supposed to do, right?" I asked wryly, turning back to him, "Hell if I know, I've never had a crew before."

"Well I've had a lot of commanding officers, Shepard. And I gotta say, you're...you're pretty special."

I narrowed my eyes, "You're just saying that because I let you call me by name and don't raid your lockers for contraband,"

He laughed, but he didn't quite meet my eyes, like he was embarrassed. God damn, but the LT was easy – and _fun_ – to embarrass.

"Nah, that's not it..." he looked up at me as he worked out what to say next, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, a dimple forming below his high cheekbones, "...but look, you don't need anyone else to tell you all about how great you are, you must get it every time someone recognises you." Part of me was disappointed. I didn't know why. And no, I _didn't_ need him to tell me.

"Ain't that the truth," I said flatly. That guy from the Citadel came to mind. What was his name, Connor something? I asked Alenko if he remembered, he quipped something about how there was no way in hell that man had a wife, and I heard myself laugh – a real laugh, not just out of pity.

He was so easy to talk to. Almost too easy. I found myself checking my words just to make sure I didn't blurt out anything stupid. I rarely spoke about myself, or my background, and the list of people who knew the first thing about either was pretty damn short. But Kaidan made me feel normal, in a good way, even with the constant awareness of our respective ranks and the buckets of prestige that went along with my name.

I don't know how much longer we sat there, trading war stories and bitching about old captains and commanders. Too long, I thought later as I went to my captain-sized room and remembered I was supposed to be his superior. I didn't want him getting the wrong idea. I wouldn't kick him out of bed, but seeing as he was also my Lieutenant I wouldn't let him near my bed in the first place. There were rules. They may not have lined up perfectly with the Alliance's regs, but they meant something to me. The real issue, I thought, was this _friendliness_ we had. It was a dangerous road to go down, I knew.

But it felt so harmless. That was part of the problem. I'd spent my whole life doing what other people wanted, doing things on their terms and clawing back what little I could for myself. Now that I was on this ship – all mine – with a crew, an important mission and a big, fat Council budget to get it _done_ however I could, it felt like _now_ was the time to stop thinking that everything was just a moment away from slipping. I'd spent so much time running, fighting my way to the top, being the best so I could justify my own existence. Maybe now was the time to stop, to look around and realise I'd gone as far as anyone could hope to go, and that it was okay to take something for myself.

I was being ridiculous. Talking to a squadmate wasn't exactly an indulgence. I spent far too much time in my own head anyway. He was a good way to keep grounded.

I caught myself in the mirror as I entered my room, part of me not recognising the woman that passed by without a scowl on her face. The 'X' on my neck was still just as large and red as I remembered. Every time I got a new tattoo I thought of covering it up, but it wouldn't feel right. Maybe I'd get a Spectre symbol somewhere too to balance it out. Kaidan had never mentioned my tattoos. I almost wanted him to ask. It would be nice to tell someone for once – to act like a normal person who had thoughts and feelings and shared them with people instead of acting like I was totally fucking indestructible.

I looked in the mirror, and saw myself, ten years younger, sneering at the thought I'd just had. When I blinked it was gone. I tried a smile. It looked unnatural so I thought of something that had made me laugh and remembered the back-and-forth in the Mako. The smile that spread over my face was an unfamiliar sight, but I enjoyed it anyway. And I would get used to it, I decided. It was time to stop running, it was time to take what I had, make something of it, and wring every ounce of happiness I could out of the life I'd built for myself. Living didn't just mean surviving from one day to the next.

Normal people smiled and laughed all the time, I thought as I slid into bed, and not just because they wanted to prove a point. They didn't keep others at arms length out of principle or act like everyone they didn't trust with their lives was automatically out to get them. And they seemed pretty happy about it, too.

I slept, and for the first time since Eden Prime, my dreams weren't of death.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Edge** – Kaidan comes to terms with his unreasonable attraction to his commanding officer, Shepard lets the conversation get too personal, and what should have been a simple mission goes horribly wrong.


	6. Edge

**Chapter 6: Edge**

_Kaidan_

I've heard it said that smell is the greatest trigger for memory, that no matter how far you push something down, a familiar smell can send all of it rushing back, past every mental block you threw up.

It happened once, on the Citadel, just over a year after that day I'd tried so hard not to think about – the day the escape shuttle opened and there was only one person inside and my world had shattered. I'd been walking, probably to or from the embassies, and I'd caught it on the air, the scent of vanilla and sweet, spicy aniseed, of something rich, mysterious and so wrapped up with _her_ that my heart seized up in my chest and the breath was knocked out of me. I'd been doing so well. I'd barely thought of her the past few weeks, and suddenly there she was again, a shirt falling off her bare shoulders, her eyes warm and dark and sultry, her muscles shifting beneath skin so much softer than I'd expected. It had hit me harder than it should have.

I'd turned my head, and it was just some woman, some young bureaucrat with long honey-coloured hair and a wide, empty smile that erupted into staccato giggles as she embraced a friend. She didn't know and likely wouldn't have cared that she smelled just like a dead woman. Not the same, of course, no one else had the same blend of that spicy, feminine aroma mingled with sweat, metal and the crisp taste of gunfire. I'd had to sit somwhere out of the way, draw in deep, heavy breaths to force the memories back into lockdown. In that short time we had – when I'd created a map of the freckles on her body, when it felt like there was no one in the world but the two of us – her scent had become as familiar to me as breathing itself.

Even though I knew she was alive, she was lost to me now. All I had were distant memories of the feel of her in my arms, and those didn't bear thinking about. Still, even the memory of that scent would transport me right back to all those times I'd breathed her in, lips at her neck, or when she'd passed me in the Normandy before I'd ever even touched her, or right back to the beginning, to the first time I realised it was _hers_.

oOoOoOo

I heard the sounds of hand-to-hand combat even before I rounded the corner to the hangar bay, grunts and the pounding of fists against flesh. I'd been told she'd headed this way, but why would—

"Hah," I heard Wrex laugh, a deep, rumbling exhalation, "you're _ferocious_ for a human, I'll give you that."

When I stepped through the open doors I saw him rubbing at the side of his face that had been sliced up by a weapon many years ago. Shepard was dressed in close-fitting casuals, bouncing from foot to foot, clenched fists wrapped in light sparring gloves, panting with a dangerous grin on her face. She caught my eye, the smile widened and in one smooth, breathtaking movement she lunged forward, ducked under Wrex's fist, threw a hand on the ground and arced her legs up to boot him in the chest. His huge arm intercepted her and with a roar he flung her aside so she flipped back, only _just_ landing on her feet. Every movement was fluid, loose, as natural as walking. I hadn't even realised my lips had fallen open, and closed them before she noticed.

She straightened up and dusted off her thin gloves, "And you're strong even for a krogan," she said breathlessly, the corners of her mouth still curved up.

"Is it time?" Wrex asked, turning to me as he flexed his neck. We were landing on Noveria in ten or so minutes, and I...what had I come down here for?

"Nearly," I replied, still looking at Shepard, "what were you...?"

"Just loosening up before we land," she said, flexing her shoulders back with that same battle-hungry smirk on her lips.

"Loose enough yet?" I asked curiously, feeling myself smile in response.

She didn't reply. Instead she stretched her arms up high and in a slow, luxurious movement she arched back, bracing her hands against the ground before bringing her legs up and over until she stood once more, totally in control of every flex of every muscle.

"I guess _so_," she breathed, smoothing her strip of hair back with a gloved hand.

I'd never dated a soldier before, always assuming it was a bad idea to mix business and pleasure, but watching her move made it very difficult to remember _why_. Her body was a weapon all of its own, sleek and dangerous and beautiful like her. I closed my mouth again, but this time she must have noticed for she shot me an amused, knowing look as she moved over to a towel hung up near where I stood.

She grabbed it and wiped the sweat from her brow, and as she passed me by it was _then_ that I noticed. I wondered how it had taken me so long. I'd caught it before when I was around her, strolling through the Presidium, the moment we infiltrated a building and took off our helmets, any time she was close, but I'd never made the connection. As she hung the towel back up I caught it again – the smell of something spicy, sweet, exotic and delicious. And guns. Always guns. I hadn't realised it was her. How had I not figured that out? The scent fit her perfectly. It moved right past all rational parts of my brain and hit me somewhere it _definitely_ shouldn't.

"Why?" She asked, that dangerous smirk coming back to her lips, "You want a go?"

It took me a second to realise what she was talking about, and a few more to remember how to _talk_, "I don't think so," I said with a nervous laugh, "I mean I'm not bad, but without biotics I'm pretty sure you'd rip me to shreds."

She bared her sharp canines as her smile widened and she looked up at me from under lowered brows. I swallowed the lump in my throat. She knew _exactly_ what she was doing.

"That's smart, LT,"

When I breathed in I tasted spiced vanilla on the air. I opened my mouth to say something. I had no idea what. She'd left me speechless. Luckily, I was saved as the intercom crackled into life.

"Five minute warning on Noveria, Commander," Joker said, "better get up here once you're ready, they can be tricky about landing clearance."

"That's my cue," she said, raking a hand back through her hair to fluff it up.

"Want me to suit up too?" I asked, assuming she'd say yes as she'd always taken me with before.

"Nah, you can sit tight for this one," she replied casually, "I'm taking Garrus and Wrex – I figure a krogan will help me bludgeon my way through the port," she glanced up at me with a wicked glint in her eye, and I heard Wrex's answering chuckle in the background.

I watched her go, taking that scent with her, and tried to push down the disappointment I felt. The last mission we'd gone on had been simple enough, a quick assignment on our way to Noveria. I'd gone with her then too and we'd had time to work out a few strategies involving her ability to carve through any line of defence, and _my_ ability to keep her protected and give her a boost when necessary. A targeted barrier and a small warp field could get her halfway across a room in a second without a scratch, letting her do what she did best. It wasn't perfect yet – 'can I get some _god damn_ cover fire, LT?' – but hell, it had been the most fun I'd had on a mission for...well, _ever_. I'd been looking forward to getting back out there, but I knew I wasn't the only one on her team.

"There'll be other battles, Alenko," Wrex rumbled from behind me, and I turned to see one large, red eye regarding me as he cracked his huge knuckles.

"I know," I replied with a shrug as though I hardly cared, "I'm just—"

"You want to be by your Commander's side," he continued, "It's admirable, but unnecessary. Shepard is a fierce warrior, even if she is a tiny human woman."

With that, he left, leaving me to wonder where the hell any of _that_ had come from. I'd rarely seen her talk to others outside of missions, but figured she had to spend her downtime _somewhere_ when she wasn't talking to me, and Wrex must've had some good war stories.

Then why did I have this uncertainty gnawing at my belly? I went back to my post and brought up their hardsuit computers. I moved the display to another screen so I could monitor them while I worked, but I caught myself glancing over at hers more often than I knew I should, especially considering she was likely the most capable 'tiny human woman' in the galaxy.

I sighed heavily. It would be a _long_ few hours.

oOoOoOo

The debriefing had been short – Shepard hadn't wanted to keep the Council waiting, nor had she wanted to keep Liara in a room full of other people after what had just happened with Matriarch Benezia.

The mission had been a success, she'd said, even if it didn't feel like it.

It sounded like they'd been through hell. When she'd called in Liara to replace Wrex just before they left the space station I'd known something was wrong. When Wrex had explained what they'd learned, the hours until they were back on board the Normandy had been difficult to say the least. I'd had to close down the display monitoring their hardsuits just so I could get anything done _at all_.

I assumed they were talking now. Liara had shot Shepard a long, desperate look as she left the comm room, and what it meant I didn't know. They'd spoken more since Therum, sometimes about the Protheans or the Geth, about Benezia, Asari culture, anything the Commander asked. I only knew what she told me – Liara spent most of her time holed away in the office behind the medbay, and occasionally I'd see Shepard go in and not come out for an hour or so, her brow wrinkled in thought. Sometimes she'd catch my eye and tell me some new crazy thing she'd just learned, and sometimes she'd walk right past, to her quarters or to the bridge.

Those times felt strange – I knew I had no reason to expect her to give a crap about my thoughts, but I still liked it when she took the time to talk to me. That was happening more and more often, I noticed, and it gave me the same little thrill I'd first had when I'd found her that night at the embassy. It felt as if she was loosening up, getting used to the crew and her place at its head. I liked the way we found reasons to talk to each other – sometimes by accident, like the time I'd found her in the belly of the ship and she coaxed me into talking about something I barely wanted to _think_ about and made it seem normal, like it was no big deal. I supposed it wasn't. Just like it was no big deal how I'd look forward to the mission's end so I could find a reason for her to tell me her perspective on it all. I just liked talking to her.

So when Ashley stopped mid sentence to greet the Commander, and I turned from the weapons bench to lock eyes with her and felt my body flush with warmth, I told myself it was no big deal. I tried not to picture her in the cargo bay, arching her spine to flip over backwards, a thin expanse of skin bared at her abdomen.

I'd been buffing over a repair in my hardsuit as Ashley modded a shotgun, but as soon as Shepard appeared, hair wet, skin flushed and scrubbed clean, both of those were forgotten.

"I hate that fucking planet," she snapped, her full lips curled back in a snarl, "I mean it, I met maybe one or two people on that rock that weren't _total assholes_ and they're the only reason I didn't just get Joker to nuke the whole station from orbit."

"Have fun, then?" Ashley asked sweetly, prompting Shepard to roll her eyes with an expansive sigh.

"It was worth going. But barely. We almost didn't get those relay coordinates and pretty much every moment at Port Hanshan was a living hell. Outside was almost as bad – goddamn blizzard made the whole region _impossible_ to operate in. I mean look at this mess," she pulled her two pistols out of a slim bag and dropped them onto the weapons bench. The frost damage was obvious, and one of the barrels was crooked. An assault rifle joined it next, along with a sniper rifle I recognised as belonging to Garrus. "Bad enough I couldn't shoot anyone on the station, but as soon as I got to Peak 15 my gun kept jamming. Had to take out a krogan _manually_," she fingered the large dent at the butt of her rifle, shaking her head. "'Least I have practice," I heard her mutter.

Ashley picked it up, staring critically at the damage as she turned it over, "Still salvageable, Commander. Need a hand?"

"Yeah, actually. Garrus is still sulking over the damage we did to the Mako, so—"

"The damage _you_ did, you mean!" the Turian's distinctive voice came from the other side of the hanger bay where he was tinkering beneath the vehicle in question.

She twisted back to yell at him, her feet still locked in place, "Shut it, Vakarian, I didn't hear you complaining when I _saved_ your ass!"

I didn't catch his response, but she turned back with a shake of her head and a faint smile on her face so I assumed it was amicable at least. The two of them were more similar than they knew – when I overheard them they were always talking about guns, swapping stories and bragging about impossible shots they'd made. I think she liked having him around. He seemed to admire her a great deal – couldn't blame him for that – and appreciated the opportunity to show what he was made of.

Ashley was already dismantling the barrel of the sniper rifle. I picked up one of Shepard's pistols and began to work on loosening some of the bolts holding it together as she cleared a space on the bench next to the worktop and moved past me to sit.

I caught that scent again, stronger this time, _fresher_. It was subtle, but now that I knew it was hers I'd recognise it anywhere. It reminded me of something fevered and primal, like warm skin and deep, impassioned breaths. And then with a jolt I remembered who she was.

I was still looking at where she sat, nonchalantly running her fingertip over the ridges of her pistol, and, with a few harsh thoughts about _respecting the damn chain of command_, I tore my gaze back to the worktop.

"Things looked pretty rough down there, Shepard," I said finally, clearing my throat and still not trusting myself to look at her, "Glad you're all back in one piece."

"Yeah. Well." She still sounded tense and unconvinced. "The commandos didn't put up as much of a fight as I thought. They were easy pickings after the rest of the base, where it felt like there was a squad of Geth Destroyers around every _fucking_ corner. And Liara did pretty well, considering. Things were sketchy, but nothing we couldn't handle."

"What about the Rachni?" Ashley piped up, slipping the main scope off of the barrel of the sniper and peering through it, "They must've been tough. Did you say they were being bred for combat?"

"Something like that," Shepard said with a weary sigh, "It's fucked up. They took the eggs away before they even hatched and messed with them until they were nothing but monsters."

"But...you still let them go?" Ashley's voice was slow, almost suspicious, and I saw Shepard's eyes slide over to stare at her from beneath low, tense brows.

"No, I let the _Queen_ go," she replied tersely, likely still wound up from the way the mission had ended. "And only _after_ she told me she'd exile herself on some distant planet and never hurt a soul, and _I_ promised her I'd hunt her down if she did."

"But how do you know she'll keep her word?" Ashley asked gently, "I know I wasn't there, and I know it's not my place to question, but—"

"I don't mind you questioning me, Williams, I just don't..." Shepard stopped, considered her words and deflated a little, "I know it might turn around and bite me in the ass, but I couldn't leave her in that tank surrounded by the bodies of her dead children. It was a choice between destroying an entire race and giving them a second chance, and if I did it again I'd make the same decision."

"I get that, commander," Ashley said after a while, "I didn't think of it that way, but I guess you're right. I don't know if I agree with what you did but if you can stand by your choice then that's the important thing, right?"

"Not if they start another war, but...she seemed genuine. And I couldn't be responsible for ending an entire species. I don't know how anyone could make that call." I saw her eyes flick over to where Wrex stood, and I remember the time she said she'd spoken to him about the genophage. It had changed her mind, she said, to hear the krogan's side of the story. Instead of a population out of control it had become about a species slowly dying and the entire female population doomed to the agony of miscarriage after miscarriage. She'd said she couldn't imagine how arrogant someone would have to be to say that _this_ species doesn't deserve life, but _ours_ does.

With that in mind, I told her I thought she did the right thing, which was mostly true. If it had been me I'd have called the Council first, but then there was a reason she was a Spectre and I wasn't – they were supposed to be able to make these kinds of galaxy-altering decisions. When she explained herself further, told us some of what the Queen had said, I had to agree with what she'd done. And I admired her for it. For better or worse, the Rachni were back, and soon the whole galaxy would know it was because of Commander Shepard. That was a hell of a burden for anyone, especially if it all went south.

We spoke for a while longer, and gradually I saw her shoulders relax as she got into cleaning her gun. Ashley brought up the tone by cracking a few awful jokes as the conversation moved away from the mission, and once or twice I even saw a smile break through Shepard's gloomy expression.

Eventually something in Ashley's pocket beeped loudly and she excused herself, hurrying to a console to pick up a video call from home. It was sweet, I thought, that she kept in such close contact with her family. I remembered I needed to call my mom. It had been a while. I hadn't even told her I was working with Shepard, and she hated to find things out by watching the news.

Shepard got up from the bench and moved around me – I held my breath – to where Ashley had been, hopping up to sit on the counter in one fluid motion. I didn't know why she liked to sit on tables like that. All I knew was when I turned to face her, her head was the same height as mine, and I was leaning down. I knew I was tall, but I still couldn't get over how average-sized she was. In the vids she had looked like she was towering over everyone, but then the self-confidence and charisma she oozed out of every pore was likely responsible for that. In reality I could easily have thrown her across the room. If she wanted me to, that is. If she didn't my arm would be broken in four places before I'd got anywhere near.

She lowered her head to peer closely at the scope of her pistol, using a small tool to chip away at the damaged parts, and her bleached strip of hair fell forward in thick, wet clumps. I made myself look back at the gun I was working on.

"Did you talk to Liara?" I asked suddenly, no longer able to sit in silence with her. I saw her brows crease in thought.

"Yeah, briefly. But after a while she said she didn't want to talk about the mission, and then she just..." Shepard wrinkled her nose as if working out how to phrase her next words, "I think it's an asari thing. She started saying all this stuff about how we had a connection, and how she wanted us to be _closer_." Her tone left no doubt about what 'closer' meant.

"Really?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. I'd heard the odd rumour floating around scuttlebutt about how the young doctor had some kind of infatuation with Shepard but I dismissed it as, at best, a one-sided thing. That Liara might _act_ on it or that her interest might be returned had never crossed my mind. For all I knew the Commander could be only interested in women, not that asari technically _were_ women, but... "Wow, that's uh...what happened?" I must have given something away in my voice, because Shepard stopped what she was doing and looked up at me, her expression stern.

"We _fucked_, obviously," she quipped, a sarcastic edge to her voice. I felt like an idiot. She focused back on her weapon and continued "I don't care that she's asari, but she's a little too young for me."

"She's a hundred years old," I pointed out.

"Yeah, and she looks and acts like a baby bird." She looked up at me again, an amused slant to her eyes, "What, were you thinking of tapping that, LT? There's no regs with alien consultants, y'know."

_That_ took me by surprise. The immediate response my brain provided was 'No, what I _actually_ want is...', and that wasn't just totally inappropriate, it was also _stupid_. I covered the colour I felt rising to my cheeks by turning back to her pistol and chuckling dismissively.

"Honestly, the thought hadn't even occurred to me." It really hadn't. If I had a 'type' when it came to women, Liara definitely wasn't it. I didn't look up at Shepard, just in case my stomach twisted itself into knots again. With her head bowed her straight, tapered brows formed a perfect angle with those sharp cheekbones. I was certain I had a type _before_ I came on the Normandy, that was for sure.

"Me neither until she said it, but I'm putting the whole thing down to shock. She just wants to know that someone cares about her. And I guess I do care about her, but not like that. She'll probably freak out and apologise the next time I see her."

"Do you think she'll be okay?"

"Yeah. Eventually." Her voice was troubled, weighed down by something. I pushed.

"Eventually?"

"I think she was just a little rattled. She'd already come to terms with the idea that her mother had become this evil, irredeemable traitor, you know, and then Benezia feeds her this crap about how she couldn't help herself, she was just '_indoctrinated'_, like it makes it all okay."

"So you didn't believe her?"

"I don't know." She paused and rubbed at her forehead, her lips drawn, "I don't know why she'd lie but it still sounds like such bullshit. She's a _Matriarch_. Saren isn't that powerful, he's just some fucking turian – how could he have that kind of influence over her? And...look, maybe it sounds crazy, but I think that if I were her, and if I had a gun to my head and my daughter was looking right at me, then maybe _I'd_ make up some kind of magical mind control shit to make the whole thing not my fault. Even if she _was_ telling the truth, she still decided to abandon her daughter with no explanation and follow Saren. She's not getting any sympathy from me."

It was hard to imagine. I hadn't been on the ground, but she'd already explained a little of what Benezia had said, and it sounded...well, it sounded almost too crazy to believe. But something made me want to think it was true, if only so Liara could believe something good about her mother in those final moments. She could remember her in a good light, not as a villain.

"But she didn't have to help you at all," I insisted, "if she was lying about the whole thing, why didn't she trick you? Whether you believe her or not, in the end she pulled through."

"Did she?" Her voice was confident, the same one I'd seen her use when giving her version of events to the Council, a voice that gave no quarter and made you believe every word she said. "The very last thing I saw her do was throw a shockwave at Liara. For all I know she _might_ have tricked us, Tali still isn't done with analysing the data, it might not lead to the relay, and the relay may not even _be_ what we're looking for. Even if she was telling the truth, I could have gotten the codes off her corpse no problem, the datapad didn't have a killswitch or anything. I didn't need her to have that weird little epiphany and I almost wish she hadn't. Would have been easier on Liara to think her mother had no hope, that she _had_ to die."

"Do you really believe that?" I asked incredulously, "I don't know, I think if I were Liara I'd rather believe Benezia died doing the right thing, even if it took her a while. Either way, it wasn't going to be easy on her, losing her mother like that."

Shepard shrugged, "She knew it was coming. And who knows, it may be good for her in the end. From what Liara said, Benezia was never exactly _warm_. This way she can make a life for herself, outside her mother's shadow. There's nothing like being orphaned to make you grow up _fast_."

"I...I guess you're right," I conceded, bowing to knowledge that I didn't have, "I can't even imagine. Hell, my parents are retired, not much chance of them getting caught in the firing line."

"You're pretty lucky, you know," she said after a while in a low, soft voice that I'd only heard her use a handful of times before, when there was no one else around and her eyes were tired, "Not being able to imagine a life without two people that love you unconditionally. Ashley too, she's got a whole brood looking out for her. There's...security in that. I can see the appeal."

"The appeal?" I remembered her words from a while ago, when she said something about how life on Earth was much harder without a 'decent family'. I'd never heard her talk about her parents. I chose my words carefully, "You...never had that? There must be at least a few good memories, right?" She opened her mouth to reply and promptly closed it, her hands still. When her lips parted again I thought she was going to tell me my question was inappropriate – which it definitely was – but instead she spoke in a casual, offhanded manner that didn't match the subject at all.

"Not...really. It was a long time ago. I never knew my dad – if my mom knew who she was she didn't mention him, and I can't exactly ask her now."

"Is she...is she gone?" I asked carefully.

"You mean is she dead?" I nodded. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as though working something out. Lifting her shoulders in a half-shrug, she continued, "I don't know. Probably. I'm not sure I care."

"You don't care?" Whatever I'd been expecting, it wasn't that. I thought she might have died in some tragic accident, an attack, spurred the woman in front of me to join the military, but just not _caring_ whether her mother was alive or dead was an idea I couldn't wrap my head around. "But...she's your mother, whatever she did I'm sure—"

"What she _did_?" Shepard's head snapped up and she glared right at me, the softness gone from her voice. She didn't sound upset or angry, just...hard. It was the same tone I'd heard her use to get a point across, or to get her way in an argument. "You don't have a fucking clue, Alenko, but since you're so goddamn curious I'll fill you in – my mother was a violent addict with a shitload of _serious_ issues, and ditching me before I hit puberty was probably the nicest thing she ever _did_, so don't give me that crap about 'she's your mother, you have to care deep down', because I stopped caring a long time ago."

I went cold. If she was actually upset I could do something _about_ that, but I didn't know what to do about this, the hardness in her eyes and the grim, determined slant of her brows. The wall I'd just started to see behind had come slamming down again like an airlock door, and it was like a reminder whatever else I thought I knew about her, however I felt, she was still Commander Shepard. She'd revealed something devastating and it hardly seemed to bother her. Her eyes went down to her weapon and she got back to work.

"I...shit, Shepard, I'm sorry," I started, "I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," she replied neutrally.

"I just—"

"Really. It's fine. Long time ago, it doesn't bother me any more. It used to, I'm not a robot, but it doesn't any more."

"Alright, Commander, if you say so," I replied at last, trying to sound sincere but knowing I probably just sounded patronising, "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

With a hint of frustration she snatched up a tool on the worktop and glanced up at me, "Look I don't even know why I told you, okay? The mission got me thinking about it, that's all, and then Liara asked and I...I told her, and she acted like it was the greatest fucking tragedy in the world when the same thing had _just_ happened to her an hour ago. But it's fine for me. I'm over it, it's just...a fact. Can't change it, not even sure I'd want to. If my mom hadn't been such a fuck-up I wouldn't be where I am today. Or maybe I'd be doing even better, who knows? Who cares? It is what it is."

"That's...a hell of a way to see things, Shepard. I guess Liara was right when she said you were strong-willed," I said uncertainly. At the very least she had an impressive ability to compartmentalise. My parents had always been there for me, through brain camp and beyond – I couldn't imagine what it would have been like growing up without a family.

Her eyes met mine, "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you feel sorry for me." Sometimes, when we were just talking, it was hard to remember that her eyes could cut _right_ through the crap and see exactly what you were thinking. "You can think it's shitty all you want but don't ever feel sorry for me. I'm not some damage case, Alenko, as far as I'm concerned my life has worked out pretty damn well. I'm self-made," She cocked her gun purposefully, a hint of a smirk appearing on her face as the repaired mechanism fell into place without a hitch. "I've got a Star of Terra, I'm the first woman in the N7s, the first and _only_ human Spectre, and I know that I _earned_ all of it. I built myself up from nothing, so don't you dare think for a second that you can feel sorry for me, because I sure as hell don't feel sorry for myself."

She was right. She was right and she _knew_ it too. You were supposed to feel sorry for sick children and grieving families, not someone who was both younger _and_ more accomplished than you in pretty much every field.

"You're right," I said at once, "Of course you're right. I'm sorry, I think I just...I think I forgot who you were for a second, Commander." It was a bad choice of words, I thought, for she stiffened as if she too remembered who she was, who I was, and why this kind of conversation was a strange one to say the least. I tried to salvage things, "I'm sorry for pushing. Really. If I'm out of line just say the word and I'll—"

"You're not," she replied, her eyes piercing and sincere. I'd never noticed how light they were before. In the cool blue glow of the armoury their rich amber colour burned a bright, olive green. "I can look after myself, you know. You don't have to worry about pissing me off, I'll tell you if you do. I shouldn't have said anything in the first place."

"I'm glad you did, though," I insisted, not wanting to let go of the familiarity we'd established since she joined the Normandy, not wanting that wall of hers to crash down again, "I don't want you to think I'm prying, it's just...you said it yourself, not a lot is known about you, and seeing how...well, _capable_ you are, it's hard not to get curious. I mean you're right, ever since you joined the Alliance you've never stopped going further and getting better. You've broken damn near every record they had, you're not even thirty and you're a Spectre, got every medal there is. And you did it all by yourself – never relied on anyone else to get where you are. It's admirable, to say the least." Parts of her hair had dried, and fell in bright, white wisps around her face.

"I'm not looking for admiration," she said quietly, staring at her gun as if uncomfortable with all the attention, "Hell, I...I don't even know what I'm looking for." She looked back up at me, and I felt as though I were witnessing something beautifully rare, a glimpse beyond the barricade. Her voice was soft, strangely vulnerable. It didn't fit with the woman I saw in combat, but it was perfect for the woman in front of me now. "I think this is close."

Something warm brewed inside me. Part of me wanted to run with what she said, take it the way I wanted her to mean it. _Idiot._

"The Normandy?"

"Mm," she nodded, casting her eyes around the hangar bay with a hint of pride, "There's a lot to be said for having your own ship and hand-picking a crew." That smirk was back, the one that said 'I got this' no matter what the situation. "I mean the brass would probably have a collective heart attack if they knew how casually I run this place, but fuck 'em, they're not here and we're getting the job done, right?"

"Whatever you're doing, it works," I let myself smile just a little. I'd grown to like that smirk, but after seeing her as she was a moment ago... I wished we weren't out here in the open. I knew it was stupid – _of course_ it was stupid – to think of my commanding officer in that way. It wasn't just because she was strong and beautiful, anyone could see that, it was because I'd glimpsed the person under the legend and some crazed part of me that cared nothing for rank or regulations wanted to know more. "People _like_ you, Shepard," _I_ like you, "the crew's behind you a hundred percent, and it's not because of your name or because you're in charge, it's because it's obvious to everyone here that you care about the ship and the mission."

Her eyes glinted wickedly, "I think everyone's just relieved I'm not nearly as much of a big, bad bitch as they thought. I must be slipping."

"Well...yeah," I conceded, "I'd be lying if I said the crew hadn't been a _little_ nervous about you. With your reputation and all those crazy rumours out there you have to expect it, but I gotta say, getting to know you has been...a pleasant surprise." Her lips parted uncertainly, but to my relief the slightest suggestion of a smile tugged at their corners as she moved her eyes back down to her pistol.

"You'd be surprised how many are true," her voice was almost...playful.

"I doubt I would," I replied in the same tone, just to the safe side of flirtation, enjoying this side of her, "After what I've seen you do I wouldn't be surprised if you really _did_ take down a Thresher Maw single-handed." I carefully stayed away from the things I'd heard regarding her spitfire disposition, take-no-prisoners attitude and general ruthlessness. It seemed like people either loved her or hated her, but I'd decided a while ago that the latter weren't worth listening to.

She pursed her lips, rocking her head side-to-side thoughtfully, "Almost. But I was in a vehicle at the time. And I had a krogan manning the gun. And this biotic telling me how much my driving sucked."

I grinned, "Now _that_ one I know about. It was...kind of fun, right?"

"I think us getting out alive was what made it fun, Kaidan," Shepard replied with a dangerous smile that made my breath catch when she said my name, "And Wrex laughing the whole way through. No one can laugh like a krogan gunning down his ancient enemy," I chuckled as she picked up her assault rifle and began to absent-mindedly disassemble the pieces Ashley hadn't got to.

And then time passed quickly, as it always did when I spoke to her. Back in her comfort zone of 'reminiscing about things I've killed,' Shepard seemed more at ease, and I don't know how much time passed as we swapped stories and fixed her guns. Shepard would chuckle to herself in that closed-off yet charming way of hers, as if she was above it all but would give up a laugh _just_ this once. I tried not to think about how good her voice sounded or how striking her profile was as she leaned over her weapon, lips parted in concentration.

Yeah, I knew I was an idiot. This wasn't like me, and I was handling the deviation from protocol _badly_. There'd always been a line, regulations, things that were easy to keep in mind on the rare occasions I felt my attention straying somewhere it shouldn't. But Shepard was different. The Normandy was different, the whole _mission_ was unlike anything I'd ever been a part of before. I'd done a good job in the past of keeping my mind on work and nothing else when I was on duty, but with Shepard...

I told myself it was a natural reaction to meeting someone as exceptional as she was. Nothing more. I told myself it was all harmless. When she cracked a smile it was so much _easier_ to believe that the the way I felt my lips curving up in response was camaraderie, a budding friendship, and I stopped there.

When Ashley came back – making me realise just how long we'd been there, she could spend hours talking to her family – she gave me a knowing look that made me freeze up, just for a moment. It wasn't nasty, it was just a look that said '_I see exactly what you're doing and I think it's funny as hell_'. Shepard seemed not to notice, or if she did she was kind enough not to mention it.

Maybe she was doing the same thing. Which was what, exactly?

Shut up, Alenko.

oOoOoOo

It was supposed to be a routine mission. It was supposed to be simple. Once Kahoku was found dead we followed the coordinates he sent to the tiny planet Nepheron, where a splinter group known simply as 'Cerberus' were said to be based. With stealth systems engaged it was easy for the Normandy to drop us close enough to infiltrate the base without tripping any alarms.

It turned out it wasn't their _main_ base, but it had intel we needed so we stormed it anyway. Fighting our way through the building wasn't as hard as we'd thought, but as soon as Shepard approached the main console in a lab at the heart of the facility, an alarm blared out through every room. We copied as many files as we could before the thing erased itself, and prepared for a handful of commandos blocking our escape as we made our way to the main room. There couldn't be more than that, right?

If only it had been that simple.

There were _so many_ of them. They poured out of every entrance, rappelling down the walls, guns blazing. We hadn't been prepared for that kind of resistance and found ourselves on the defensive almost immediately. I heard Shepard bark into her comm link to the Normandy, telling them to bomb the hell out of any units outside and prepare for an emergency extraction.

A static reply came – there was another, underground base nearby, one they'd only noticed when a square of the planet's surface had rolled back and an AA gun had started hammering at the skies. The Normandy's scanners had detected movement through tunnels, units travelling between the bases. Kahoku's info hadn't mentioned _that_. They must have known we were coming. We'd have to get back to the Mako, get somewhere out of range of the gun before the Normandy could pick us up.

We were doing fine at first. Shields were low, but Ashley was keeping the larger units occupied while Shepard took point, slicing through enemies like they were made of paper as we tried to advance towards the door.

And then it happened. I didn't know how, I barely saw it, at the time I was busy holding two snipers in stasis as Ashley fought her way towards them. Shepard had taken out two commandos in her way – one in the head, another in the neck, two bullets – and vaulted over the pile of crates she was using as cover, sprinting towards the row in front. A mech appeared from nowhere and before I had time to shout a warning it had already launched a rocket directly at her.

Shepard was fast, though. She leapt forward, one hand on the floor, the rocket missing her by inches and spiralling towards the pile of crates she'd just cleared as she skidded into cover.

I heard her shout the start of a word and try to scramble out of the way in the split second before something just _exploded_, the force knocking me on the floor as I stretched out my arm to try and wrap a barrier around her. It must have been a pipe, a gas canister, something hidden by the crates and dislodged when she'd moved. I didn't care what caused it, all I knew was before the smoke had even cleared I was already sprinting towards where she'd fallen, noticing as I threw up a barrier with outstretched hands that her hardsuit had flatlined on my display.

Ashley shouted something into her comm link that crackled in my ear. I heard the words 'Shepard', 'extraction' and 'right fucking now' and was thankful that she'd had the presence of mind to call it in. I saw Shepard lying prone on the ground, the arm of the mech reaching over to finish the job, and I didn't think, I just acted, throwing the biggest biotic punch I could muster directly at its main gun, a cry erupting from my throat. It was knocked back, limbs breaking off with the impact, and I lifted it into the air, surprising myself at the power with which it flew into the walkway jutting out from the floor above.

By the time it landed on the ground with a crunch of circuits and metal, the lights of its optic sensors were dark. I pulled up another barrier large enough to surround Shepard and myself as Ashley took cover nearby to take out any units that got too close. I could hear another mech whirring into life in the next room.

There were still no life signs from Shepard's hardsuit. With a lump in my throat I let myself glance down, feeling the barrier shudder under gunfire as my concentration slipped.

She'd been hit by shrapnel, something from inside the crates. A shard of some kind of glass jutted out of the side of her helmet where she'd left the visor open, and twisted metal had ripped clean through her hardsuit to bury itself in her right shoulder, just at the point that contained most of the suit's sensors as well as its built-in life support system. That meant two things – she could well still be alive and it was just the sensors that were dead, but also that without her suit's life support systems she wouldn't stay that way for long.

In less than a minute they'd flanked us. I was out in the open, and the barrier I held up was straining against the onslaught of bullets. The door out was blocked by the wreckage of the mech and the Cerberus commandos were coming in at the sides and even from the way we came. I pressed my back against the pile of crates and faced away from the exit, still standing over Shepard. Ashley was doing a good job of holding them back from our position, but they were getting closer. Gunfire rippled against the biotic shield. The back of my neck felt hot, and my jaw was beginning to ache where my teeth ground together with effort.

In a short moment of calm I heard a ragged, strained breath from beneath me and nearly shuddered with relief. Shepard's hardsuit flickered into life for just a moment and, holding the barrier steady with one outstretched hand, I quickly brought up my omnitool to activate her suit's medi-gel delivery system.

Ashley blew a merc's arm clean off with a blast from her shotgun. I let my eyes flicker back down and saw Shepard's face through the gap left by her visor, blood running over her features from the gash in her cheek. Her eyes were still closed, but they were shut tight, in pain. Pain was good. Pain meant she was alive. Medi-gel leaked from the cracks in her suit, bright and green and useless. I grit my teeth and recharged the barrier. I didn't know how long I could hold it for. We'd have to move soon.

The pounding of another mech's feet came from behind me. It was battering the other one out of the way.

A plan formed in my mind, cool and lucid. I shouted an order to Ashley who immediately complied, yanking free a handful of grenades from her belt and hurling them in a scatter around the room where Cerberus agents drew ever closer. They erupted in fire and smoke, and within a second I'd pulled back the barrier, arced around and threw a shockwave as hard as I could, right at the second mech as it pulled up its main gun. It flew back and I jerked my fists apart, moving the two machines from the crumpled pile in front of the door and leaving us a way out. My amp was burning. I didn't care. I'd never felt so powerful.

By then Ashley had skidded over to my position and was already picking Shepard off the floor. I turned back and saw lasers aimed at us through the smoke. Pain ripped through my arm but the adrenaline was pumping hard and I didn't care. I threw up my arms, raising a barrier around the three of us and, with my amp running hotter than I'd ever felt before, I pounded my fists on the ground and let the whole thing _erupt_. Waves of blue fire rushed over my arms and my whole body felt alight. The shockwave from the biotic explosion met any obstacles by throwing them clean across the room or ripping them to shreds, and there wasn't a Cerberus agent left standing by the time it reached the walls. I felt _utterly_ drained. But this wasn't over.

With Ashley shouting into her comm link we fled the room, my arm outstretched behind us to hold up a barrier that kept the smattering of gunfire off our tails. My other arm was bleeding, I could feel it running down the inside of my suit. I didn't care. _Later_.

There was a sign, an emergency exit that didn't have Cerberus agents pouring through it. I hurled the grenades I had left behind us and we sprinted to the airlock, Ashley still keeping pace even with Shepard's smaller body in her arms. I heard a weak, bloody cough and told myself that was a good thing. Anything that meant she was alive. We were almost there.

The airlock doors closed with a hiss of steam and we knew we were safe, at least for a few minutes.

I grabbed a breather helmet hanging on the wall and, with Ashley holding her head up, we eased Shepard's broken helmet off. My chest felt tight. The shard sticking out of her face was smaller than I'd thought, and had mercifully missed her eye by embedding itself just above her left cheekbone.

"It's gotta come out, LT," Ashley said through heavy breaths, "You do it."

It took all the will I had left not to shake as, with one hand on her face, poised with a capsule of medi-gel, I eased the tip from where it had sliced through her cheek. It hadn't gone as deep as I'd first feared, but it still cut almost to the bone. The medi-gel took care of the worst but there'd be a scar when she woke up. It would match the others, I thought, and I already liked every one of them. It was still bleeding but the gel was knitting her skin together and she could at least wear a breather helmet. Something banged hard against the airlock door. They'd caught up.

"Williams to Normandy, we're out in twenty-five seconds!" Ashley pounded her fist on the de-pressuriser and a mechanism worked double time as the air was sucked from the room. The Cerberus helmet wouldn't quite fit Shepard's suit, but it would do for the few minutes we'd be outside. As I pulled it over her closed eyes I felt cold dread ripple up my chest. I wanted, more than anything, to see them open.

The airlock doors opened on the other side and this time I picked up Shepard while Ashley scouted ahead, her gun raised. My arm was throbbing agonisingly but I didn't care – I could deal with it later. There were only a handful of units outside. Easy pickings for her as we rushed to the Mako.

Ashley shoved her foot down on the accelerator and hailed the Normandy as I tried to strap in Shepard's limp body. I could just about hear the breather working in her helmet. There was blood on the outside of her suit, mingled with leaked medigel. The minutes before we were picked up by the Normandy were impossibly long as Ashley sped the Mako away from the base. I heard what sounded like a sharp, whispered prayer from the comm link in my ear, and realised the Chief was scared for Shepard's life too. As I stared at the shrapnel buried in her shoulder and studded along her arm, I told myself again and again that it would all be fine. Shepard was indestructible, and she'd call me an idiot for thinking otherwise as soon as she woke up. Not if, but _when_. I turned that phrase over in my head, liking the way it sounded, liking the certainty of it all.

She was dying now, I knew, she was losing blood fast. But she'd almost died so many times before. This wouldn't be _it_. It couldn't be. When she woke up, she'd laugh at how worried I was right now.

Not if, but _when_.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

I winced against the light, and wished I hadn't as pain shot up the side of my face at the slightest movement.

I heard a gasp of breath and realised it was mine. I hadn't noticed the low murmur of voices until they suddenly stopped and I forced my eyes open. The left one _hurt_. I recognised the pattern of lights on the ceiling from the last time I'd been lying there, and knew at once that I was in the medbay of the Normandy.

"Commander?" Chakwas' voice was always calming. That woman knew her shit. If I was on the Normandy chances were at least I was stitched up properly.

What happened? Why couldn't I remember?

"Commander, try not to move," she said as I raised my head, her voice getting closer, "You had quite a severe concussion alongside your other injuries, just stay still."

Maybe that was why the dreams I'd had were even bloodier than usual, just like the pictures I'd seen flashing through my head after Eden Prime. Maybe the knock to my head had shaken something loose? I wished they'd stop. I was getting tired of waking up in a panic every night with cold sweat drenching my sheets.

I did as Chakwas asked and relaxed, my eyes following her as she pressed a few buttons on the IV drip and depressed a switch that made the top half of the bed move upwards until I was almost in a sitting position. I saw an empty blood bag hooked up too and wondered if that was why I felt so weak. With that infernal torch dangling from the cord around her neck she shone a light brighter than the sun right into my eyes, and I followed its movements faithfully. Apparently satisfied, Chakwas put a hand to my face and examined whatever horrible injury I'd received in the time I couldn't remember. I closed my eyes with exhaustion and saw bright white spots dancing about.

My ribs and my right shoulder _ached_. I flexed my hands experimentally. Still worked. That was a good sign. It was hard to think. It felt like someone had pulled out my brain and replaced it with cotton wool.

"You seem to be responding well," Chakwas said, almost to herself, "vitals look fine. All in all, you're in remarkably good shape, considering. How are you feeling?"

"I'll live," I muttered, my voice croaky. My chest felt tight, bruised. With my eyes shut tight every bite of pain was intensified. "What happened? How long was I out?"

"Only a few hours this time, you'll be glad to hear. As for what happened, you were hit with shrapnel that tore up your hardsuit rather badly. The force of the explosion must have knocked you out. Is that correct, Lieutenant?"

For a second I wondered why the hell she was asking me and also why she thought I was still a lieutenant, and then I opened my eyes to see she wasn't looking at me at all. I turned my head to the side – my neck _ached_ – and the first thing that I saw was a bare torso, rippling with muscles and lit to perfection by the fluorescent lights of the medbay. Enjoying the warmth that rushed through my body I lazily followed the trail of dark, fine hairs up the centre of his chest, past powerful shoulders and found myself staring straight into the warm, dark eyes of _oh shit I'd been checking out Alenko._

Had he noticed? I could blame it on the concussion. My eyes flicked down again against my will and I forced them back up to his face. He had a pretty nice face, too, but I knew that already. _Definitely_ blaming it on the concussion. It wasn't like I'd never looked before, but not with the doctor right fucking _there_.

"That's right, yeah," Kaidan said in reply to Chakwas, still looking at me with a concerned slant to his thick brows, "One of the canisters must have exploded. It happened pretty fast, completely at random,"

"That's okay, Alenko," I managed to croak as her hands moved down to my shoulder, "I can handle it if I screwed up, you can tell me."

He shook his head, "You didn't. I saw most of it, no way could you know that crate would explode, I don't think the mech even knew that would happen, took us all by surprise."

"The mech?" Something flashed in my head as Chakwas retrieved some kind of brace and started fixing it over my bandaged shoulder. "I think I remember the mech. But...how did we get out? They were everywhere."

"It wasn't easy. Ash managed to get you to the airlock and the Normandy picked us up soon after. The mission was still a success, Commander, we got the data, Tali's working on decrypting it right now."

"No need to be so modest, Kaidan," Chakwas piped up, and I saw his mouth fall open in protest, "You nearly blew out your amp with those stunts you pulled. Good thing you can get it patched up when we reach the Citadel, else you'd be off-duty for a while longer, I should think." She turned back to me, her eyes glinting, "I hear it was quite impressive, Commander. The young Lieutenant here almost certainly saved your life."

"The Chief was there too," he replied at once, as if desperate not to take any credit.

"The _Chief_ was the one that told me of your rather spectacular display of heroics," Chakwas replied in the tone of one who had already made up her mind and refused to believe otherwise, "And she was quite adamant that you'd all be dead if it weren't for your biotics."

I turned back to him, and he looked like he wanted to contradict her but thought better of it. His mouth closed and curved up into a small, self-conscious smile, dimples creasing the skin below those high cheekbones. Embarrassed, but sincere. Kaidan didn't do false modesty.

I wished I'd been awake to see what he'd done. I loved his biotics, the way he could bend the world itself to his will. I'd get Williams to tell me what happened later. He'd saved my life, and he could have been killed himself. We were definitely even for Eden Prime. Hell, I owed him one.

The painkillers must have been making me sentimental.

His brows were still knotted in concern. He really did have lovely eyes. They were the colour of old whiskey, rich and expressive. I knew I was still flying high on medication but I didn't care. I quite enjoyed being outside my own head for a change. I could think about how stupid this was later.

"How does that feel, Commander?" I glanced up at Chakwas as she finished strapping the brace around my shoulder. There was a dull spike of pain as I flexed experimentally, but the joint was kept firmly in place, and my arm fit snugly into the sling.

"Fine. What's the damage?"

"Nothing that won't heal, luckily. You have a remarkable talent for survival, it seems. Your wounds are mostly superficial, though they could have been far worse had your squadmates not used what was left of your suit's medi-gel delivery system, else you might have lost too much blood. Your lung was almost punctured but they got you back here quick enough to avoid any lasting damage. The muscles are torn but I have top-notch medi-gel working on that so it should heal nicely. For anyone else I'd say _at least_ two weeks bed rest, but I doubt you'd take that advice."

"Right about that,"

"Then just don't be stupid, Commander. You heal fast, that's true, but you should still keep out of missions as long as possible, rest the arm, no more krogan boxing, and you'll be fine."

"I'll lay low, promise," I said to Chakwas, "I can't shoot with this thing on anyway."

"Keep it there for at least a week and you'll be back to your old self in no time. As for your face, well, I've done what I can, if you keep it clean it shouldn't scar too severely. You can see for yourself," she handed me a small mirror. I'd totally forgotten about my face. Was that why Kaidan was looking at me so strangely, like he was afraid I was at death's door? It wasn't as though I didn't have my fair share of scars already. I grasped the mirror with my good hand and held it up.

It was nothing, a gash an inch or two long that curved around my left eye socket. It had been closed well and tiny strips of white held it together while it healed.

"I like it," I declared, aware that when I had a clear head I might see things differently, but deciding that I didn't care for now. It added something to the patchwork of scars and tattoos that covered my skin already. It was part of the story of my life.

Kaidan chuckled nervously, "So do I, it matches the other side," the fact that he'd basically just said 'I've looked at your face enough to remember where all your scars are' wasn't lost on either of us, apparently, for he mumbled a quick 'Commander' to make up for the informality. I didn't know why that made my stomach knot up. I blamed the concussion.

I turned my face in the mirror to see what he meant. The most prominent scar I had crossed vertically over the right side of my lips, and I had another on my right cheek, with two more dicing through my right eyebrow. He had a point. The new one kind of balanced them out. I made a noise somewhere between interest and agreement, and Chakwas scowled half-heartedly.

"Well if I knew you'd find it _decorative_, Shepard, I wouldn't have used all my skills as a doctor to minimise the damage." I really did love her voice. No one could do cutting sarcasm like an Englishwoman. "Take a few more minutes to clear your head, then I'll let you go. I'd better see to the lieutenant before he catches cold."

It only _just_ occurred to me then that the best explanation for Kaidan being shirtless in the medbay wasn't to distract me, but rather that he'd also been injured while performing whatever heroic feat he'd miraculously pulled off. My eyes followed Chakwas as she moved over to him. There was a gash, freshly sewn-up on his arm, right by the prominent curve of his bicep.

"Just a bullet wound," Kaidan said by way of explanation, "Went in clean, it'll heal fine."

"It will," Chakwas said, iron in her voice, "though it tore a little while you were carrying Shepard – Williams could have managed just fine, I'm sure."

"You took a bullet carrying me?" I asked in surprise, not sure what to think about any of it. Marines didn't leave each other behind, sure, but...this seemed different somehow.

"I think it happened just after you went down, I was out in the open for a bit. I carried you out the airlock to the Mako afterwards. Didn't realise I got shot until we were back up here. Adrenaline, I guess." He looked sheepish. It was...sweet, really.

Chakwas gave him a sceptical look, "It's your biotics I'm worried about, but you'll get a better idea of any damage on the Citadel,"

"They have doctors there for biotics?" I asked as I pushed myself off the bed and swung my legs onto the floor. I was still attached to an IV so I wasn't going far, but I hated hospitals, and I hated lying in bed with nothing to do.

"Yeah," Kaidan admitted, "but I don't need—"

"Bullshit, we'll make a stop as soon as we can. I'll probably need a new hardsuit anyway if mine got shredded." The small, meek smile he gave me in response was proof enough that I was doing a nice thing and wasn't just being overbearing. I couldn't let him short-circuit himself after all, especially not after what he'd done. I had only the most basic idea of how human biotics worked, but if Chakwas was concerned then that was enough for me.

The doctor inspected the bandage she'd applied over Kaidan's bullet wound and, apparently satisfied, gestured that he could leave. When he pulled the shirt back over his head I couldn't help myself and my eyes moved down, just for a moment, to the muscles on his abdomen, rippling with the movement. It wasn't as though the fact that Kaidan was nice to look at had escaped my attention when I first met him, but here, now, it was especially hard to ignore, and it was harder to talk like a commander when _that_ was right in front of you.

Chakwas came over to me next and removed the IV needle, giving me a litany of further instructions about _actually_ resting my shoulder and not just saying I was. And then she vanished into the back room and I was left looking at Kaidan who was in turn looking straight back at me, and neither of us spoke a word.

A few nights before Noveria I'd jolted awake from twisting, screaming, bloody dreams. Now that I knew they were leftovers from the prothean beacon they didn't freak me out as much as they had before, but that didn't mean they were any less _real_. I'd left my room desperate for a glimpse of the outside world, a point of reference like a billion burning stars, but I'd found him before I made it to a window. He'd been eating, said he was up late working anyway, and so I'd talked to him about what I'd seen. He'd been...brilliant, really. Calm, grounded, believed me but didn't indulge me or my growing paranoia about what we were truly up against. It had been just what I needed. When I went back to bed, all I could think of was him. I'd never met anyone like him before. I kept expecting the other shoe to drop, for some other side of him to come out, but he stayed the same. Kind, genuine, full to the brim of honesty and integrity. It was difficult. I didn't trust easily, but he was...just _so_ easy to trust.

Maybe that was why I told him about my mother and still felt the need to explain myself. That was why I'd had to force myself to say no more at the time. He was too easy to talk to.

It was getting harder to remember why our ranks mattered, day by day. We were still looking at each other, and my throat was dry.

I acted first, moving towards the door and pausing on my way out to touch him briefly on the arm, just below where I knew he'd been shot.

"Thank you," I said, surprised at how soft my voice sounded, "I mean it."

His smile was hesitant, small, but entirely sincere, "Any time, Shepard."

And then, because he was looking at me in a way that made my chest feel heavy and full and I didn't know how to respond, I dug my fingers into his arm, not enough to seriously hurt but enough to pinch. He inhaled sharply, but the corners of his mouth were still turned up and he was looking at me like he was trying to understand some private joke of ours.

"Just don't ever do anything that stupid again, Alenko," I said, deadly serious, "I don't want you dying under my command."

"I wouldn't leave you behind, Shepard," he replied, his voice low, sincere, "Ever. And I'm _not_ sorry."

I was acutely aware of how this would look if Chakwas were to walk back in. I'd broken regs before, sure – I didn't see an issue in hooking up with like-minded soldiers, especially not when they looked like _this_ lieutenant, but it was never anyone under my direct command. And none of them had ever looked at me like Kaidan was looking at me now.

I tore my eyes away without another word and walked quickly to the door. Outside the medbay I didn't stop but headed straight for my quarters, and as soon as the door closed I leaned against it and took a deep, cleansing breath. There was a dull throbbing in my shoulder.

The mission was changing me. The _Normandy_ was changing me. I looked in the mirror, at the fresh scar that balanced out the others. This place – this _crew_ – has started to feel like home. I cared about them all. I cared about the ship, the mission, every member of the crew, every one of my squadmates, and it made me feel vulnerable as hell.

For the first time in a _long_ time I was starting to care about something for reasons beyond how useful it was to me. And, I thought rebelliously, I _liked_ it. The stupidity of it all was balanced out by the fact that when I thought about the mission, about the word 'Reaper' and what it might mean, and I felt myself slipping from the great, sturdy, confident base I'd built up over years of being the _best_...when I felt lost, I saw hands of all shapes and colours reaching out to me. That was, I was told, how real relationships between people were supposed to work – they were reciprocal. And...it just felt so _good_ to trust other people, to rely on them, even if only for a moment, and allow them to carry you after spending your life carrying others.

They didn't know – none of them knew – what it took for me to overcome the sudden urge to cut them loose and fly away as I'd always done before.

I saw Kaidan's face when I closed my eyes, the way he'd looked at me when he said he'd never leave me behind, and however much I _knew_ I should have just closed myself off...I didn't want to. I'd never feared death before, only failure. _He_ was changing me too, and I was letting it happen.

It felt good to care again.

**Chapter 7: Echoes** – A week later and the team are back at the Citadel. Shepard enlists Kaidan's help to test out her new armour, but a figure from Shepard's past sends the day down a dark path.

**Thanks for the reviews, everyone! This is my first Mass Effect story so it's great to hear I'm not just doing this for myself. Please leave a review, even if you're just telling me you like where this is going – it makes me feel much better about this whole story!**


	7. Echoes

**Chapter 7: Echoes**

_Shepard_

So much had changed since I'd been on the Citadel last. And yet, here I was, spitting out a rant about _goddamn higher-ups_ again as Kaidan and Ashley followed behind. I didn't know when I stopped thinking of them as Alenko and Williams. It seemed like a distant memory.

"Who the _fuck _does he think he is, anyway?" I demanded, turning back to the two of them as we entered the elevator to the Presidium. **Mikhailovich** had pissed me off to no end. It was bad enough that I'd been out of action for over a week while Chakwas made me rest my shoulder but as soon as I'd been let off the ship this idiot with an axe to grind had confronted me with a laundry list of complaints about everything from the fine points of my mission to the Normandy's very existence. I didn't cope well with undeserved criticism, and maybe, just maybe, my new Untouchable Spectre status had gone to my head as far as respecting the chain of command went.

Ashley's voice was rich with sarcasm as she answered my non-question, "I think he said he was a Rear Admiral, Commander."

"And that means I should just sit back and let him say all that shit about me, my ship and my _crew_?"

"I thought you handled it pretty well, considering," Kaidan said in his 'on the bright side' voice that I'd got so used to, "for a second there I really thought you were gonna hit him."

"He told me to _'secure my mouth'_," I spat, still not believing he'd come out with those words, "What the hell does that even mean? He's happy to send me out to kill for the Alliance, but telling him he's got his facts ass-backwards is a bridge too far?"

"Can't do much now, Commander," he said with a shrug, "besides, I'm sure whoever he's reporting to will set him straight. We're doing a good job out there, the Alliance knows it, so do the Council."

Kaidan's expression was one of calm, carefree resignation, and his half-smile wasn't something I could scowl at. I still lifted my chin in a gesture of defiance as I turned back to the elevator doors, watching the wards zoom by through the glass. He may have hit the nail on the head but that didn't mean I was ready to stop being livid.

"They _should_ have set him straight before he decided to board my ship and make it his personal mission to _piss me off_. Today was supposed to be fun."

"For _you_, maybe," Kaidan replied, almost sulkily. While Ashley and I were heading to the Alliance armoury, Kaidan was off to one of the best doctors for human biotics in the galaxy to have his amp looked at. I didn't know what that involved, but seeing as the amp was embedded at the base of his skull, it didn't exactly sound like a riot. He insisted it was fine but Chakwas could be very persuasive, and after what she'd told me about the instability of L2 implants, I wasn't going to take any chances. I shrugged at him, a smirk on my lips. I _was_ looking forward to getting my new, state-of-the-art hardsuit. At least it would mean I could get back in the field and stop directing missions from aboard the Normandy.

The elevator ground to a halt at our level and Ashley and I stepped outside.

I shot him a glance over my shoulder, "Two hours, Alenko. See you then."

As we walked towards the armoury I caught a strange, mischievous look on Ashley's face. When I turned to her she glanced away but couldn't hide the 'I-know-something-you-don't' expression.

I sighed, "What?"

"Nothing, Skipper," she said immediately, her expression one of total innocence.

"Nothing my ass," I mumbled in response, trying not to think about how Kaidan was only in hospital because I'd almost got myself killed. I wished I'd been awake to see what he did. From what Ashley said it sounded pretty incredible. I didn't even know you could _do_ that with a biotic barrier.

Besides, I didn't need to ask her what that look was for. I knew what she was thinking. The problem was, I wasn't entirely sure if she was wrong.

I knew Kaidan had a soft spot for me – the past week had made that pretty clear, what with the two of us under explicit instructions to take it easy and let others handle the minor assignments we were given. I still oversaw the missions, gave orders from the Normandy's comm link, but otherwise there'd been nothing for me to do but read reports and try to heal. Kaidan's wound was relatively minor, but after nearly overloading his amp he was also ship-bound until he could get it checked out. It was inevitable, really, that we'd pass some of the time in each other's company, at least when he wasn't crippled by a migraine.

I learned little facts about him that I found equal parts bizarre and fascinating. He liked old 2D movies, thought hot weather was overrated, and wanted to teach other biotics when he got too old for active duty. He enjoyed cooking and Sunday mornings and whiskey. He lived in _Vancouver_, for fuck's sake. I'd never met someone so _normal_ before. It was strange that, despite our lives up to this point being so different, we seemed to share a lot of opinions about everything from galactic politics to scuttlebutt gossip. And though I could easily say with a straight face that I didn't have a soft spot for _him_, that was just because I was an exceptionally good liar.

A few days ago he'd taken it upon himself to give me a lesson in how to use my new upgraded omnitool to break through some of the more advanced encryptions we'd come across on assignments. I already knew the basics, of course, but I always got him or Garrus or Tali or _anyone else_ to hack through a console or break open a lock when brute force wouldn't suffice. My training in the Alliance was focused on developing the considerable combat skills I already possessed and I had no real interest in learning how to hunt out certain hidden segments from a clusterfuck of coding, but Kaidan insisted I may as well pick up a few tricks while I was ship-bound.

So we'd stood by that console of his, he created a virtual OS for me to infiltrate, and surrounded it with a firewall so thick that even Tali would have taken a few minutes to crack it. It took me almost an hour the first time, but that wasn't entirely my fault. He'd been standing right there, every so often leaning over me to point something out on my omnitool or the screen, his well-muscled arm brushing against mine, a faint smile on his face at my total incompetence. The console wasn't the _only_ source of my frustration, and I'd snapped that he was just enjoying being better at something than I was for once. He'd replied that I wasn't wrong, but that he'd take what he could get when it came to me. And then he'd pointed out a huge gaping hole in the code I'd pieced together, and chuckled at the way my face screwed up in irritation.

Ashley had walked past, and we'd both straightened up immediately to act like the hardened professionals we were. She'd given us a knowing look and as soon as she was gone we'd relaxed, and when our eyes met, reluctant, almost _shy_, there was a moment when I _knew_ he knew, just as I did, that this, whatever we had, wasn't the same as the easy camaraderie I'd built with the other members of the crew. There was a certain atmosphere that could only exist between the two of us, alone, and I didn't know what it was, all I knew was I _liked_ it. It was like nothing I'd felt before. But I liked it.

It felt good, I thought, to admit a little weakness. I was supposed to be one of the most dangerous people in the galaxy, but standing with him, letting myself laugh at my own stupid mistakes, letting myself flirt with my own Lieutenant...it felt good. It felt lighthearted in a way that was unfamiliar but still so _warm_ and inviting. There was a way he'd look up at me sometimes, with a self-conscious smile and a dark, intense stare that made my stomach twist into knots that I _knew_ wasn't just sexual frustration. It was stupid. I'd seen no end of tall, dark marines with broad shoulders and chiselled faces in my time. He shouldn't have had any effect on me at all. He _didn't_ at the start.

I told myself, once again, that it was harmless.

oOoOoOo

I loved my new hardsuit. Sleek and black, with accents the colour of red wine and bright crimson lights dotted about. It looked almost as good off as it did on, I thought as I saw it piled on a nearby worktop, a master craftsman busying himself making adjustments to a few pieces so they'd fit my body like a second skin.

Ashley had already gone back to the Normandy, a glint in her eye as she shouldered one of several boxes of new toys for the ship's armoury. It had been a good trip, and after what had happened with the Rear Admiral I was in surprisingly good spirits.

There was a full-length mirror in front of me, the same one in which I'd admired the almost-perfect fit of my new hardsuit barely ten minutes ago. Now, though, all I wore was the thin, black undersuit made of some of the most advanced material the galaxy could offer. As I turned this way and that, I saw the lines of circuitry reflected back at me from the curves of my body, running down the suit like drops of water trailing across skin. I put my hands on my hips and regarded my figure. The fabric left very little to the imagination, and every curve of muscle, hip and breast was obvious. I loved my body, my athletic frame, well-built legs and lithe arms. It was powerful, like a machine. I could do _anything_ with it.

So when I heard the door open, it gave me a cheap little thrill to see Kaidan appear in the mirror behind me, especially when his eyes travelled up my legs until he apparently saw something he liked and just _stared_ for a moment, his mouth falling open ever so slightly. Very little could flatter my body as well as a black, skintight undersuit – I knew it, and apparently _he_ knew it too. That didn't mean I'd let him get away with checking out his commanding officer, though, at least not in public. Keeping my lower body in place I twisted my torso so I could look over one shoulder and glare fiercely at him. The reaction was delicious, though it took him a _full three seconds_ after he met my eyes before he looked embarrassed about it. When he realised what he'd been doing, his mouth worked noiselessly to form an excuse. The sight of someone as together and clean-cut as Kaidan so stunned would keep me warm for a while. Sometimes you had to make _yourself_ laugh.

"Pretty great, isn't it?" I said, trying to keep the smirk from my face. I turned my body to face him, drumming my fingers on my well-toned abdomen as my hands slid down to my hips.

"Yeah," he said quickly, "I mean—no, I...not that it's-"

"The suit, Alenko," I jerked my head towards the disassembled pieces on the table.

"Of course," he said as if I'd just told him the most obvious thing in the world, "Yeah. The suit! It's..." he swallowed, "...it looks pretty great."

It was very, very difficult to keep a straight face. I was a Spectre with my own ship and an arsenal full of weapons, but this was a wholly _different_ kind of power, a kind it was nice to remember I still possessed. I may not have looked like a typically beautiful woman, what with the ink and the buzzcut, but at least my body was honed to perfection.

I didn't let myself think – not even for a second – that the warm flush I felt at seeing Kaidan's reaction was for any other reason. It was nice to be desired, I thought. It was just revenge for when he'd caught me off-guard in the medbay that one time. That was all.

"Commander, ready to check the adjustments?" I didn't know where the armourer had appeared from but suddenly he was there, holding a piece of my hardsuit. It took longer than usual to fit the pieces together around my body – the mechanism that held them together was better, I was told, but it was different and would take some getting used to. At least that goddamn shoulder brace was off. I almost told Kaidan to give me a hand, make him squirm a little, but Ashley's knowing grin flashed through my head and I told myself I should act more like an Alliance Commander and less like a mercenary who hadn't been laid in six months.

That last part was true, though. Fucking regs. It was Anderson's fault, really. On Kovassi Station I'd bumped into Luca, an N5 I'd worked with many times before and with whom I had a longstanding arrangement. I was supposed to meet him the night the Normandy docked to take me to Eden Prime, and I'd had to swallow the mass of sexual frustration brewing in my belly and tell him it would have to be another time. And then this mission started and I'd barely had a moment to myself. I seemed to spend most of my time with Kaidan…

To break the silence I asked him about his implant, and to my relief he told me it was in pretty good shape, considering what it had been through. Apparently there were benefits as well as drawbacks to being an L2, and Kaidan could get away with more than most human biotics could ever hope for. I pressed him for details, and reluctantly he told me that the doctor had said if he upped his usage gradually, let his body get used to it and came back for more regular tune-ups to make sure he wasn't pushing things too far, he'd be able to do even more within the next few years.

I found that strangely exciting. When I met Kaidan it hadn't taken me long to realise he was full to the brim of untapped potential, and biotics were just the start. He was principled, but he wasn't just an idealistic idiot. His head was still screwed firmly on his shoulders, and he understood the world better than most. Talking to him was like...it was like seeing something fantastically weird in the sky, something everyone else was ignoring, and then one person came along, stood next to you, and asked if you could see it too. I'd only met a handful of people that could make me feel that way, like there was someone else in the world that _understood_, even if they didn't know it all. It made all the insanity surrounding this mission seem…manageable. If he could develop his abilities, I thought, really _push_ past what most people would be happy with and reach his full potential, he could be an elite soldier just like me. We could be _equals_ and I could banish that cloud hanging over our every interaction, the cloud that reminded me he was my Lieutenant and I should really treat him like one.

I told him I looked forward to seeing what he could do, and with a self-conscious chuckle he changed the subject to my shoulder. I said it was fine. Better than fine, in fact. I rolled my arms as the armourer stepped back, marvelling at how much more flexible this set was than my old, mangled hardsuit. The 'N7' logo was painted on the chest. I still prefered it to the Spectre's.

We still had almost an hour before we were supposed to be back on the Normandy. And this was a _citadel_ hour, too. I looked back at Kaidan, saw a pistol by his hip, and formed a plan. I thanked the armourer and gathered up my things.

"C'mon, Alenko," I said, moving towards the door, "I've got an idea."

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

'Spectre status recognised', the VI chimed as the doors slid open, revealing a part of the Citadel I didn't even know existed. Shepard strolled inside the huge room, lit up with consoles, holo displays and _wow_ there were a lot of guns. An entire wall was dominated by a display listing Spectres operating throughout the galaxy. One was in red – Saren's, I noticed – and right down at the bottom, clearly the latest addition, was the woman in front of me. Not for the first time I reminded myself that no matter what happened, I'd still get to say I served alongside the first human Spectre on her first mission. It was an honour, really.

"Am I even allowed to be in here?" I asked, glancing around uncertainly, "The sign says Spectres only, and—"

Shepard twirled around mid stride and shrugged, "Fuck it."

I sighed, trying to hide my smile and wondering when the rules had stopped mattering so much as I followed her in. She moved over to a console by a large, heavily secured door and her fingers flew across the keys.

"Didn't get a chance to try this out last time we were here," she said cryptically. I still had no idea what we were doing. She'd mentioned something about her new hardsuit, but when I thought of _that_ all I could think of was the way the two lines of red light perfectly followed the contours of the back of her body, and the way they curved around-

No, couldn't think like that. I made that mistake only ten minutes ago. My excuse was that I hadn't even realised it was her until I was looking her right in the face, but I wasn't even sure if that was true. I'd never had trouble keeping my eyes front and centre _before_.

I thought of the pictures on my omnitool, the ones I'd snapped during missions, sometimes just during the downtime in between, and how most had _her_ in them. I told myself it was because I wanted to remember working with the first human Spectre, but by now I was pretty sure that was total bullshit.

"Try out what?" I asked at last. The door in front of us whirred and clunked as its various locks were disengaged, and she looked back at me with that smirk of hers.

"Can't go into combat without testing this baby out first," she explained, gesturing to her own body which was illuminated with red along the folds and joints of her suit.

That was how I found myself in the Spectre firing range with a gun in my hand and Shepard at the other end, a shimmer passing over her body as her shields came up.

She looked up at me expectantly, "Good to go, Alenko. If you manage to hit me I owe you a drink."

I raised the gun and found her in its sights. And then I lowered it and fiddled with the clip.

"I'm using blanks," I said firmly, wondering how she'd _ever_ thought I'd be able to shoot at her with real bullets.

"Blanks?" She scoffed, "Then why should I even _try_ to dodge?"

"I'm not shooting at you with live rounds, Shepard, no matter what you say."

"What if I put the helmet on?"

"I'll still know it's you," I insisted, glaring at her.

She threw her arms up in exasperation, "Fine!" and turned to face the wall opposite me.

Shepard was a force of nature, I'd seen that enough times for myself, but there was at least a hundred yards between me and her, and I was a _good_ shot. Surely I'd be able to get at least one hit.

I tried not to think of all the times I'd seen her tear across a battlefield, moving with the grace of an asari dancer one moment and attacking with the brutality of a krogan warlord the next.

I aimed for the weapon mount right in the centre of her back, where a square of red lights made an easy target in the bright room. She'd left her suit's lights on full blast, a clear insult to my marksmanship. Of course I'd be able to hit her.

I clicked the safety off and pulled the trigger a fraction of a second later but she had already moved, darting to the left and skidding round to face me. I fired again, over and over but every time I got a clear shot she was already gone, feigning from side to side and dashing towards me with a ferocity I'd only ever seen her direct at an enemy. I wasn't trying to go easy on her – I just realised with a cold blast of total certainty that I _couldn't_ actually hit her in the same detached way your body lets you know that you're falling and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.

Within seconds she was in front of me, I tried to fire again but she nudged my arm aside and shoved me back with a palm on my chest – quite gently, I thought, as she hadn't _broken_ anything. I barely felt her, but in an instant the gun was out of my hand and when I looked up at her there she was, arm outstretched, the barrel of my own gun just a few inches from my forehead, her entire posture radiating power and absolute confidence in her own abilities. Her eyes were alight, her breathing even, cheeks barely flushed. My heart gave a heavy thump as the word '_beautiful_' burnt up on my tongue.

"Bang," she purred, low and sultry as she mimed the kickback of the pistol and lowered her arm. That perfect smirk was still on her face, the one that said she had total control of the situation and was holding on to several backup plans just in case.

Being on the same side, it was all too easy to forget that Shepard was probably one of the greatest commandos alive, asari included. You could work for a thousand years to try and train those kinds of reflexes, but to Shepard it came as naturally as breathing.

Speaking of breathing...

I let out the air I didn't even realise I was holding in, still staring at her eyes which sparkled with amusement as she handed me back the pistol.

"That the best you got?" she asked, her voice betraying just how much she was enjoying herself. I guess her shoulder really _was_ better.

This time I was ready for her, but it didn't help. A bullet barely grazed the outer edge of her shield and she'd skidded in front of me in moments. Dropping low, she arced up a leg and kicked the tip of the gun so it flew out of my hand before springing to her feet and driving the heel of her hand so close to my throat that when I sucked in a breath my skin brushed against her gloved palm. I'd seen her kill with that move more than once, but the look in her amber eyes wasn't of aggression, it was somewhere between arousal and pure, sweet adrenaline. I felt my lips curve up into a smile. I could watch her all day.

Shepard stepped back.

"C'mon, Alenko, you can do better," she called as she jogged back to the end of the room, "Give me hell. Cut loose!"

I raised the pistol again, but this time I had a plan. I fired off two token shots which she dodged just as easily as before, all the while building up a biotic charge with my fist clenched behind my back. I hurled it at her and sent another one after. They crossed each other as they curved through the air and with an impossibly elegant movement she leapt to the side, kicked her leg against a wall, arced her back over one warp field and ducked beneath another. Her legs spread wide, one hand on the ground in front, the other arm flung out for balance, she lifted her head, hair flipping back, and stared straight at me, every movement loose and fluid but perfectly controlled. There was an instant, as her tongue darted forward to wet her lips and I clenched both fists to charge up another biotic assault, where her eyes locked with mine, and I saw one word written clear on her face: _more_.

I couldn't let her down, could I?

I gave her everything I had, peppering the air with shockwaves only to see the red lights of her suit weave around them like they weren't even there. I had to keep reminding myself to throw more at her, as it was far too easy just to get caught up with watching her move. That new suit was flexible as _hell_.

For a while I realised she wasn't even trying to get near me. As I threw whole collections of warp fields in her direction she'd flip to one side, skid to the other and in the fraction of a second when she could have been sprinting towards me she just waited for more. Well, she said she wanted to test out her armour. If the half-grin-half-snarl on her face was anything to go by, she was impressed.

So was I. But I had another trick on my sleeve.

Eventually she'd had enough of dodging biotic attacks and started to advance. I'd made her shields flicker once or twice but otherwise she was untouchable. Not that it hadn't been obvious before, but now I knew for certain why Shepard had been chosen to be a Spectre over any other human alive. That didn't mean she could fight gravity, though. As I hurled token charges at her, I felt every eezo nodule in my body flare into life as I summoned up the control necessary for what I was planning.

I threw up my palms suddenly when she was no more than a few yards away, and she stopped in place, mid-stride, with an expression of total confusion on her face as the blue fire I'd grown so used to seeing around enemies rippled over her body. Before she had a chance to react I clenched my hands into fists and raised them, keeping the tightest possible reign on my biotics. Her lips fell open, a tiny gasp of surprise escaping as, still in stasis, her body was lifted from the ground. If I wasn't careful I could spike, rip a limb off or worse, but when I looked at her face, as confusion turned to naked wonder and her eyes locked with mine, I saw trust. And then I saw the N7 logo on her hardsuit and remembered who she was. Shepard was _hard_ to kill, and I sure as hell wouldn't be the one to do it.

She had her chance to show off. _This _was mine. She wanted to see what an L2 could do? The look on her face as I lifted her even higher was worth the headache I knew I'd get later.

I heard a laugh above me as she struggled half-heartedly against the stasis field. I'd seen Shepard punch through barriers before to knock out the biotic behind them, I knew she could break it if she tried, and I couldn't strengthen it enough without potentially hurting her. I only used my biotics on inanimate objects or things I wanted to kill – using them on someone I actually cared about required a level of concentration that was difficult to maintain.

Still, I could do it for a few minutes more. She seemed comfortable enough, and once I'd stopped painstakingly analysing every movement it was easy to shift her around, keeping the field strong enough to hold her but not to hurt her. If I hadn't surprised myself by the damage I'd been able to do in the Cerberus base, I wouldn't have thought this was possible. But I'd seen high-level Asaris do it – I knew I could do it too. With a satisfied smile spreading across my face I moved my hands to manipulate the field, watching as she flew through the air around the large room, spinning and diving and laughing in a way that made me feel warm inside.

My stomach twisted as I remembered how her full lips had parted uncertainly before breaking into a grin as I'd teased her by pointing out a huge error in her sloppy, brute-force coding when we'd spent an afternoon in front of that console. She wore that same smile now, and I knew that, just like before, it would flash through my head as I tried to fall asleep. That, and the scent I caught when I'd leaned over her, just close enough to feel her body without touching it, pretending for a moment that we weren't military, that we weren't on a mission to save the galaxy.

I flexed my fingers in a complicated movement and she looped through the air, arms spread wide. I wanted her to smile like that all the time.

This diversion, though, had to end eventually. I moved her back over to me, lowered her to just above the ground, and let the stasis field go. The blue fire flickered, curling around her body until it dissipated into the air, and she jolted forwards. I reached out an arm to steady her but she'd already got her balance back and let out a breathy laugh of astonishment as she straightened.

"Are you okay?" I asked, but every concern I had disappeared as soon as she looked at me.

"_Fuck,_" she breathed, a grin spreading over her face "You just made me _fly, _Kaidan. That was...well shit, that was even better than zero-gee training."

Her eyes were bright, the colour of rich amber, and it was one of those rare moments where she wasn't snarling or scowling and was instead just...happy? Was that the right word? I felt my breath catch again and told myself it was because of the exertion. I was a bad liar.

"Wait here," she said, brushing her hand over my shoulder as she moved past me. I spent the five minutes when she was gone wondering what that gesture meant, and if I'd done the right thing.

It was all too easy to imagine gestures, looks, inflections that didn't exist when you wanted them to. It was also getting harder to pass it off as hero worship, as the need to be near someone or something so incredible that it amazes you they can exist at all. I'd been in awe of her at the beginning, sure, but I hadn't spent our first conversation wondering if her lips felt as soft as they looked or if the tattoo I'd seen curling enticingly between her shoulder blades went any lower. Those kinds of thoughts weren't about hero worship. They also weren't things you were supposed to think about your commanding officer.

Get it together, Alenko.

She reappeared in Alliance casuals, the ghost of that thrilled smile still on her face, and handed me the bag containing her hardsuit as she shouldered what looked like the box for a _large_ weapon. A pistol had appeared at her hip and she explained to me as we walked through the Presidium that being a Spectre had far more benefits than people realised. Free stuff was just one of them.

We were passing through the Wards on the way to the Normandy when it happened. I didn't know why we were taking the long way round, but I didn't care and I didn't ask – she was firing off question after question about my biotics and I was all too happy to answer. She said it was impressive, what I'd done, and that she hadn't forgotten what had happened over a week ago and how it had left me with migraines for a few days after. I could barely wrap my head around that – the woman I'd just seen dodging bullets and flinging herself over warp fields thought something _I_ did was impressive. I was still trying not to feel smug about it when a man by Chora's Den peeled himself off the wall he was leaning on and took a step towards us.

"Well well," he said in a gravelly voice with a thick North American accent, "they told me it was you, but I didn't believe it."

I saw Shepard stiffen, almost imperceptibly. Her mouth moved to a thin line as she turned to see the speaker, a greasy-looking, middle-aged man with scarred, pockmarked skin and a mouth full of yellowing teeth. A cold blanket of alertness settled over me. The easy atmosphere we'd built up over the last hour had totally evaporated, and I felt its loss.

"All grown up, and playing soldier," he continued as he looked her up and down, his eyes taking their time. I felt my hands ball into fists and remembered the pistol at my side.

"What's it to you?" she growled in a low, dangerous voice. It was obvious she knew who he was, but I was in the dark. He didn't look dangerous – at least not dangerous to _her_ – so why was she acting like he was a real threat?

"What, you don't remember? You forgot all about your pals in the Reds?" He looked down her body again, at the uniform and the Spectre logo beneath the arcs of the Alliance, "I didn't forget about _you_, missy."

"Then what the hell do you want?" I saw her stance shift, her shoulders flexing back, it was a move I'd seen many times before when she was getting ready to grab her gun at a split-second's notice.

"Lose the pretty boy," he said, curling back his lip as he jerked his head at me. I narrowed my eyes, feeling the eezo nodules in my chest aching to do some damage.

"Alenko, back to the ship," she barked, not even looking at me as she eased the weapon container off her shoulder and shoved it in my general direction, leaving her unarmed. I turned to her in surprise, a protest on my lips but the hard set of her jaw told me not to argue.

"Commander," I said in acknowledgement as I took the box and marched myself over to the end of the corridor, where I promptly turned a corner, flattened against the wall, and waited. An order was one thing, but an order like _that_ was only given to be broken, surely? I listened carefully, my ears straining to catch any part of their conversation, but all I could hear was their muffled voices, no actual words. I listened as two sets of footsteps headed down what I knew was an empty back alley nearby, and then there was silence.

My pulse was racing and as the people of the wards passed me by, with no care in the world for why I was there, I did my best to keep my head and think about this logically. Within seconds everything had changed – the afternoon had taken an ugly turn and now I had no idea what she was doing or who that man was. What the hell were the Reds?

After a few minutes the wait was intolerable. I looked back down the corridor, saw no one, and carefully made my way to the entrance of the back alley. I heard her voice, but not his. Keeping close to the wall I peered around the corner and saw her turn to the side as she spoke into her commlink. The man was gone, but I could hear the tail end of her sentence.

"...just one," her face was drawn together with tension as she listened to the chatter on the other end, "It's clean, no weapons, write it up any way you want...yeah, I'd be surprised if he didn't have it coming from someone else anyway. Thanks, Bailey."

Understanding dawned and a sick feeling brewed in my stomach. I trusted her with my life, of course I did, but everyone knew Spectres were above the law, and a lot of people weren't convinced that was possible without at least _hints_ of corruption. I'd thought of her as better than that...but I didn't know my Commander as well as I liked to think. I knew she didn't have a problem with petty acts of lawbreaking, but killing in cold blood was something else. I had to know the full story.

As she flipped close the communicator and strode towards the entrance of the alley, I stepped out in front of her. A flicker passed over her face, and suddenly I couldn't read her at all – her expression was entirely closed-off. I could have been a total stranger to her.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

I fought to keep my breathing level. Adrenaline was still pounding in my blood and it had been hard enough talking to Bailey without sounding like a frightened fucking child but when _Kaidan_ turned the corner...

As soon as I'd heard that voice, I knew it was Finch. And I knew I'd kill him. He was a loose end. And there was no way in hell I wanted Kaidan to see, just in case Finch said something I couldn't explain.

I moved past Kaidan purposefully, speaking in a voice that somehow didn't shake, "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," he responded, and I could feel his eyes on me, could picture his expression, the second-guessing, that famous integrity of his forcing him to run through a dozen scenarios in which this really _wasn't_ what it looked like. I knew he deserved an explanation. I could feel a cold sweat pass over my body, and hated the fact that it had shaken me up so much. I didn't know if I could give him an explanation that made any sense.

"I gave you an order to go back to the ship," I said calmly, so calmly that I wondered if it sounded forced. It _was_. I brought up my omnitool and pretended to do something important so I wouldn't have to meet his eyes. He was still looking at me.

"Yeah," he replied, irritated, "and I figured _that_ was a show for whoever the hell that guy was. I wasn't going to leave you without a weapon."

I swallowed, a battle raging in my head. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him everything, to explain this whole other world I'd been caught up in for nine long, dark years. The whole time felt like a bad dream. Kaidan was good at dealing with nightmares.

"I didn't need a weapon," I said at last. I didn't know whether I wanted him to back off or keep pushing, give me no choice but to explain it all. I didn't look at his face.

"So you killed him?"

"Yes," I snapped, finally looking up at him with a scowl and seeing nothing but hurt and confusion on his face that hit me like a blow to the gut, "It was clean, looks like an accident. I already called it in." It had been so easy. Finch was older than me, slower. His skills weren't in combat. I'd barely had to touch him. Snapping his neck was like popping the cork out of a bottle. Booting him down the stairs was like hauling cargo. I didn't know why I'd _ever_ been scared of him.

"Did he pull a gun on you?" Kaidan went on, and I could see the flurry of thoughts behind his eyes. He had a certain concept of me, I knew. It was idealised, with the rough edges smoothed over, but I found myself wanting it to be true. If it were true, I'd know how to take moments of real, carefree, childlike happiness without feeling like such things didn't apply to me. At that moment, I wanted my face to show what I was actually feeling so I wouldn't have to explain. Instead, with practised ease, I kept it hard as stone.

"No, he didn't need to," I said, "I made the call and you should let it go."

"How can I let that go when you won't even tell me what he did? Why kill him? Is this top-secret or-"

"_Look_," I said in a low, hostile tone, "I'm sure you've already figured out that I knew him. He asked me to do something I wasn't gonna do, I refused, he threatened me, I killed him, _end of story._" I didn't know why I'd even told him that much. I could blackbox him if I wanted to, and I'd be well within my rights and rank. I wanted him to just _understand_ like he understood everything else and to stop looking at me like he didn't know who I was, but I didn't want the words to leave my mouth in case I couldn't stop them. This wasn't how I wanted it to come out. I couldn't _control_ this. All I wanted was to go back half an hour and pretend none of this had happened..

"He _threatened_ you?" he said in disbelief as I stared hard at my omnitool, "Hell, Shepard, you could have disabled him with both hands behind your back, you didn't need to—"

I rounded on him before I could stop myself with fury in my eyes. I looked like a cornered animal and I knew it, but for that second I was a child again, and I _didn't_ _care_.

"You don't _know_ me, Kaidan," I spat, "And if you knew _half_ the shit I've seen that asshole do you'd have killed him yourself. He was pure fucking _evil_, and he thought he could just stroll up to me and use my position to get his scumbag friend out of prison but I _know_ the two of them." I swallowed and stared levelly at him, my voice going quiet, "They were traffickers, and they were _good_ at it too."

He hesitated, looking at me cautiously as if re-evaluating everything he'd thought he knew about his Commander. "Drugs?" he asked, almost hopefully.

"_Girls._" The word felt like ash in my mouth. I saw his face harden, his teeth grind together, and I felt sorry that I'd had to muddy up the day with such ugly details. But however hard I tried to pretend with him and the others, _that_ was the reality. I still remembered the way I felt when I'd found out about it, the bile that rose in my throat, my perfectly still face twitching with revulsion and rage. Finch hadn't been the brains, neither was his friend, but the two of them _enjoyed_ that work. They liked having that kind of power. It was part of the Red's black market ring, but when red sand and illegal mods didn't cut it, there were always people that needed to be smuggled into the country. The lucky ones, the ones with skills, _they_ could find a place for themselves. The others were put to work or, when times were tough, _sold_. The Reds wouldn't have done that when I was first scooped up from the streets, but by the time I put a gun to Calvern's head, surrounded by the bodies of his generals, I barely recognised them at all. He'd made them into something desperate and repulsive and I wanted no part of it.

Kaidan wanted to know why, _didn't_ he? He wanted to know what that shit-stain had done to deserve death? I looked up at him, the impotent rage I felt bubbling inside writ large on my face, "Isn't this what the Alliance is supposed to do?" I demanded, not knowing why the hell I was still talking, "Stop evil people? Isn't that what Spectres are supposed to do?" I could feel the scowl darkening my face but I didn't care, "Hell, you tell me, you're supposed to be totally _fucking_ incorruptible so maybe you have the moral authority to tell me if what I just did was a good thing or if I'm just as bad as the rest of 'em." I turned away before he had a chance to respond and stalked down the corridor, feeling angry and vulnerable and utterly, utterly _pathetic_.

"Shepard, I-" I heard him take a step towards me and I slowed. I didn't know what I wanted him to do. I wanted him to make it so that this whole hideous episode hadn't happened at all. "I'm sorry. I believe you, of _course_ I do. I was just...surprised." I stopped walking and turned back to him slowly, not even bothering to wipe the defiant, feral look from my face. The adrenaline was starting to flow out of me. I reminded myself that Finch was dead, they _all_ were, and I thought of how easy it'd been. I wasn't a child. I could defend myself. He shouldn't have shaken me up that much.

"If you say he had to die, then he had to die," he continued, "It's your call and I'm behind you all the way. I always will be," he said, moving closer to me. I felt my shoulders drop slowly as my posture relaxed. My mouth still felt tight and I took a deep breath to help the tension ebb away. "I'm sorry for...for sounding like I didn't trust you. I do. Of course I do. I was just—"

"I don't know why I thought I couldn't just _tell_ you," I said suddenly, looking up at him, my lips parting as I tried to work out exactly how to say what was running through my head, "I saw him and I...I knew I was going to kill him. I _had_ to. I didn't want you to see. I didn't want you to know about it, about any of it." I'd been having a good day. I'd just wanted to pretend for a little while longer before it all broke into pieces. My eyes darted to the side, to a small group of people entering the corridor, and I felt my throat growing tight, "I don't want to talk about this. Not...I...I don't..."

He understood. "The Normandy must be finished restocking by now," he said, brushing my arm with his fingertips in a gesture I knew meant that this would stay between us. I hoped it didn't change anything. I nodded and stayed still, but as he walked past me I fell into step with him and stared at the floor, cursing Finch, the Reds, the universe's sense of humour and my own spinelessness in the face of the life I'd flown so far away from.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

I didn't know how to reconcile the idea of 'Commander Shepard' in my head with what had just happened. And then I remembered an old saying. There are two ways to dehumanise someone: treat them like nothing, or put them on a pedestal. I didn't know where it had come from, but, as I tried not to look at the woman marching next to me, I finally understood it.

The first human Spectre had been a child once, she'd had hopes and fears and secrets, and no doubt some still haunted her to this day. She was unlike anyone I'd ever met – the daily realities of killing and combat didn't bother her at all, it was the little things, the _normal_ things like genuine human emotion and appearing vulnerable that made her shut down inside. I was guilty of idolising her too – I doubted there was anyone on the Normandy who wasn't guilty of that, at least a little. But I'd seen the woman behind the legend more than once, and it had made me want to know more, know _everything_ about her.

There were regs for a reason, I knew. They were supposed to stop exactly this kind of thing – questioning the actions of superior officers because it didn't sit well with you, because you thought you knew them _better_ than that. With her, though, I couldn't help it. I felt like it was different because we were _professionals_ – we could handle the rigid divide of life off-duty and life on the battlefield. Her hands were still tense as they hung by her sides. I couldn't pretend I didn't care. It was getting too hard to act as if she was my Commander and nothing more. I wished I could see her smile again.

"It was _almost_ a fun day," I said at last when we were nearing C-Sec. The barest hint of a smirk burst through her haunted expression.

"It _was_ a fun day," she murmured in response, "I got new armour and I flew – far as I'm concerned it's a solid _win_."

And just like that the tension evaporated and by the time the elevator doors closed on us we were acting as if the last half hour hadn't happened at all. It was a brilliant coping mechanism, one I was sure she was familiar with. She had a way of talking about things like this that was totally detached – like they'd happened to someone else. But I'd witnessed something I wasn't supposed to see, a rare moment in which she was shaken, and it had taken both of us by surprise. When she'd looked at me, her expression defensive but vulnerable, somehow _younger_, I'd wanted, more than anything, to stop the world and make her troubles disappear. As if there was anything _I_ could do to help her that she couldn't do herself.

She was telling me about the gun she'd picked up in the Spectre's armoury as the elevator doors opened, and as she walked ahead into the Normandy's airlock there was some of that familiar swagger in her movements, even if she _was_ walking faster than usual.

I had so many questions, but I'd keep them to myself for now. She didn't owe me answers, and I didn't need to know. Instead, I'd do what I was supposed to do – follow her into hell and back, get the job done, never question orders.

As soon as we were back on board the Normandy the transmission from the Council came through, and within minutes I heard her voice over the ship's PA, loud and clear, as she revealed our next destination: _Virmire_.

* * *

**Chapter 8: History** – The night before the next mission, the team unwind with a drink-fuelled poker game that goes on into the night.


	8. History

**Chapter 8: History**

_Shepard_

So it turned out, as these things do, that I hadn't been the only one to pick up a few things on the Citadel. Technically alcohol could be classed as contraband if you hated your crew enough to enforce it. On a ship like the Normandy, though, the people drinking would rather commit ritual suicide than mess up on the job because they were drunk, and around the table I saw no one who was on duty for the next eleven or so hours when we would land on Virmire.

Although, the numbers around the table _had_ dwindled a little. That was likely due to the half-hour long stalemate I'd been having with Ashley, as both of us flat out refused to throw the game, chip piles getting higher and lower without ever getting cleaned out. With everyone else already out, it was getting tense. Ashley took a swig of her beer and stared at me levelly, and, as I flipped a chip back and forth over my knuckles, I wondered if she was as stubborn as me.

There were far more bottles empty than full on the table. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to put me in charge of a crew?

Joker was sober – '_can't trust the damn autopilot not to screw up' _– but was still gazing at the cards below Ashley's fingers with an intensity I'd only ever seen in the cockpit. Kaidan was at least a little tipsy, and had a fist to his mouth in thought as if he were at a strategy meeting and not a poker night. Liara wasn't drinking but had tilted her head to the side in concentration as she tried to apply the rules I'd briefly explained to the all-out psychological warfare taking place now. The two engineers we'd invited up were passing a bottle of whiskey between them and, I saw, taking their own bets on which of us would eventually win. Garrus was…well, I still found it hard to read turian faces. He'd found a bottle of something he could actually drink and seemed happy enough about that, but I made a mental note to talk to him later. After he'd put a bullet in that doctor's head, the one he'd been chasing for years, he'd gone quiet, though he looked fine now. I took a gulp from my glass – rum imported from some colony that looked like _paradise_ on the bottle – and stared at Ashley across the table.

In a self-indulgent gesture, I flicked the chip from my fingers and it landed with a _chink_ onto the pile in the middle. It was a fifty, and she'd only raised by ten.

"Forty to check," I said as her jaw clenched in annoyance. I _knew_ she was bluffing. You didn't run with a gang for nine years without picking up a few tricks when it came to hustling cards. Ashley had enough chips left and could afford to let this hand go, but it still had to hurt. With a grimace she mumbled 'fold' and I dragged the winnings over to my side of the table. It was good natured, but I still _loved_ to win.

"This needs to stop," Joker said with a hint of hysteria as I began to arrange my chips into piles, "you were in the exact same position half an hour ago and we're still no closer to one of you winning."

"You're just pissed because you went out _first_," Ashley said, the slight slur in her voice betraying how much she'd had to drink as she snatched up the deck of cards and began shuffling them with brutal efficiency. She dealt me in again, her face hard as steel and when our eyes met she didn't back down, not even for a second. I didn't know if this was a feature of drunk Ashley or I-just-hate-losing Ashley, but I _liked_ it.

"What if this goes on all night?" Joker pleaded, "I mean it, I'm _invested_ now, I have to see how it ends, but at least _I've_ got the autopilot. There's no one to pick up the slack if _you_ guys are all nursing hangovers and bruised egos."

"Egos?" I snapped, "Tell that to _her_, she's the one who doesn't know when to give up."

"_Me_?" Ashley shot back, "I almost _had_ you then you got an _impossible_ hand!"

The low-level spat continued for almost a minute before Kaidan intervened with the very sensible suggestion that for the next round we just went all-in blind. That way we'd finish the game _and_ have a clear winner _and_ no one's egos could be too hurt by losing the last round. I realised at that point that I was leaning over the table and self-consciously shuffled back in my chair.

The two of us looked over at Kaidan, his face giving away nothing but well-intentioned helpfulness. When I narrowed my eyes at him, though, there was a moment when the corners of his mouth twitched up, and I was suddenly bored of poker.

"I'm game," I said.

"Me too," Ashley replied, shoving her remaining chips into the centre. My pile – still _just_ smaller than hers – joined it.

"Show 'em, ladies," Joker mumbled suicidally. Neither of us cared enough to call him on it, though, and we flipped our hands over. Mine was better by a long way – two queens to Ashley's ten and eight. And then I watched, mouth falling open, as the rest of the cards were dealt and Ashley was left with a _straight goddamn flush_ while I had nothing but my shitty pair. Her fists launched themselves into the air as soon as it became apparent she'd won, and a cry of '_yes!_' erupted from her mouth as she threw her head back in celebration.

I tried to scowl as she raked the chips over to her, but I couldn't. She looked so happy, and besides, I almost had more money than I knew what to do with. Ashley had a family _as well as_ a gun collection. I could let her have this one.

Her credit chit beeped as the funds we'd put into the prize pot were transferred to her account and she slid it into her pocket. Stretching luxuriously in celebration, Ashley looked at no one in particular and declared to the world "Tonight's my _lucky_ night!" before finishing her beer to a round of congratulations.

I knew some XOs that would flatly forbid this kind of thing, but I couldn't see the harm. It was fun, and seeing as this mission was getting less and _less_ fun the further we dived in, the less I cared about the regs. The whole thing was working. It wasn't typical – hell, we were an Alliance ship with more alien operatives than human – but it worked, and it worked _well_. The brass couldn't ask for much more than that, right?

"I concede," I muttered with a smirk, raising my glass and knocking back the golden brown liquid within.

After the finale a few chairs emptied themselves. I could hardly blame them – it had been a _long_ game. By the time I came back from the bathroom there were only three people left. Garrus was just sitting back down, and Ashley was staring intently at Kaidan who in turn looked baffled at something she must have said. As I approached I noticed him absent-mindedly rubbing his fingers over the bullet wound in his arm, lifting the sleeve of his shirt just enough for me to catch the curve of a bicep. I wished I'd never seen him with that thing off. It was difficult, at times, to think of him in any other way. I poured another drink.

"Hey Commander," Ashley asked suddenly, "can I ask you a question?"

I dropped into my chair and grabbed my glass, "Shoot, Williams."

"What's with the ink?"

I...didn't really know how to respond to that. I'd got used to wearing Alliance gear on board, but tonight was one of the rare occasions I wore something of my own – a dark red, sleeveless top that showed off the majority of the art I'd collected on my body over the years. My tattoos were so much a part of me that sometimes I forgot they might be strange to other people. It was a bold question from Ashley, but the jackpot and the beer had made her confident.

"The ink? You mean my tattoos?" She nodded. I asked my rum-addled brain what it thought about this topic of conversation, and received a 'why not?' in response. Why not, indeed. "What about them?"

"I don't know, I'm just...I guess I want to know if there's any good stories attached. I've kind of been wondering since the first time I saw them, and seeing as I'm on a roll..." her shoulders lifted into a half-shrug, as if spurring me on.

Every one of my tattoos had something behind them, whether it was a story, a thought or just practicality such as my service number etched on the back of my neck. It wasn't an unusual request, people were always curious, but most of the time I didn't like them enough to answer. With these three, though…I couldn't see the harm. "Alright. You get two for free. Pick."

Her eyes travelled over my arms as her lips pursed in thought. I saw her looking at the sparrow in the hollow beneath my collarbone, the large, ornate piece on my left, the rings around my forearm, the odd symbols dotted here and there. Finally she settled on something and pointed.

"The one on your right arm, the knot thing."

I looked down at the one she meant, dragging a finger over the skin and feeling pleased that I'd taken the time to find a decent place to do good, wear-proof work on my skin. This was one of my favourites. Simple, but strong, proud.

"This one used to be on an old squadmate," I started, picturing the same symbol curved around his huge arm, "Walsh. We were friends, went through a lot together. He was on Elysium with me too. Died about a year after, krogan merc. And I always liked his tattoo, so when he got killed it only seemed right I get one of my own."

"That's...a good story, Shepard," Kaidan said at last. He'd seen my tattoos a number of times, though he'd never asked about them, and now he was looking at the one in question like it was the first time he's seen it.

"It's pretty simple," I went on, shifting so I could see the whole thing plastered over my upper arm, all thick blue-black lines and strong curves weaving together, "but then he didn't like to pad things out. He was a good friend, good soldier." Telling it didn't make me sad, I realised. Maybe it should? He was one of the few friends I'd made in the Alliance, but all I felt was disappointment that he hadn't seen me beat him into the Ns. I would have rubbed his nose in it _so_ hard.

"Did you get it to remind you of him?" Garrus asked, and I wondered if turians had any kind of equivalent to tattoos or if the markings on their face was as far as it went.

"I guess so...back then, anyway. But now I've had it for longer than he had it, so when I look at it all I see is...me. Which is good – it's no fun dragging a dead friend around with you." There was a murmur of agreement from around the room. They'd all lost friends in combat. They knew what I meant. I looked up at Ashley, "One more."

"What about that one on your neck?" She asked, clearly having no idea of the can of worms she was about to open as she eyed the fading red 'X' I'd got when I was thirteen, when Calvern wanted to mark me as one of theirs, one of _his_. After what happened yesterday, Kaidan was smart enough to put two and two together and figure out who Finch was. _Had been_.

But he'd taken it so well. Later, I'd been downright embarrassed at what was undeniably an overreaction on my part, the ripping open of old wounds that had been too ignored and shut away to ever really heal. I'd been caught off-guard, confronted with a ghost and adrenaline had flooded my body as a primal, childish kind of fear had taken over. It had definitely been definitely an overreaction. Maybe it all wasn't as bad as I thought? Maybe they'd understand?

I looked at my drink. Fuck it. What was the harm in explaining one little tattoo?

"It's an old one," I started, feeling the slow creep of apprehension up my throat as I ventured into unfamiliar territory, all the time wondering if I'd actually say the next word, "Real old. It's the sign of a gang I used to roll with back on Earth, before I joined the Alliance."

"A _gang_?" Garrus asked, clearly surprised but I figured that was the ex C-Sec officer talking, "Of criminals?"

"No, of masked_ vigilantes,_" I replied with cutting sarcasm, "Yes, Garrus, of criminals."

"What was it called?" Ashley asked, eyeing the mark curiously.

"Tenth Street Reds, the 'X' is a numeral, it's a shitty symbol," I replied, seeing the understanding dawn in Kaidan's eyes, his mind working at putting the puzzle together. I pushed forward. "They were based in one of those sprawling, overpopulated metropolises the US likes to call cities. Course by the time I joined they owned a lot more than Tenth Street, but the name kind of stuck. And so did the ink."

Ashley cocked her head to the side, hands cradling her beer bottle, "If it was such a long time ago, why don't you get it removed?"

"Why would I?" The ease with which they were taking this small admission was making me defensive, which was probably the opposite of how I was supposed to react. "It _happened_, I spent almost as long with them as I have with the Alliance, and they may have been involved in some nasty shit but what I learned there gave me an edge when I joined the marines. It's not pretty but...it is what it is, right?" Even washing over so much, the words felt alien coming out of my mouth. The list of people that knew the whole story was very short indeed. I didn't know if I kept it a secret for their benefit or mine.

"How _did_ you end up in the Alliance, anyway?" Garrus asked suddenly, and I should have expected it. I toyed with giving them a real answer. I'd been drinking, and it felt like a time for war stories. That was one of the best I had – I'd toppled an empire with twelve bullets. Kaidan hadn't said a word, and the slant of his brows told me he was considering something important. I'd revealed enough for one evening.

"Outreach programme," I said simply. Part of me wanted to tell them, tell _all_ of them. The first time I was recognised as a Spectre, I told myself I had made it at last, and now I could stop running, stop working towards more reasons to justify my own existence. I was powerful now. I could protect myself, and anyone I cared about. I glanced around the room. The list of people I cared about had grown without my consent or knowledge. But, the rum told me as it slid down my throat, that was okay. It was okay to care. That didn't mean you were condemning people to death, even if every shred of evidence I had told me that was the case.

Ashley asked me for one more, but I told her that after cleaning me out of credits I wasn't going to let all my good stories go at once too.

I asked for one of hers instead, and after a little convincing by the other two she told me the story of the first time she was outed in the Alliance as being General Williams' granddaughter. She told us about the shit she'd got for it and how she'd clawed back respect by dragging her wounded commanding officer back to their shuttle after securing the mission objective single-handedly while the rest of her unit was bunkered down further back. With the passion of the very drunk, she told us about the injustice of it all, how terrible it felt to know that no matter how hard she tried, how far she came, she'd still be stuck with a label that had nothing to do with her or her achievements.

I told her what I'd already said before – that I thought her grandfather had done the right thing on Shanxi, that anyone who thought otherwise was a testosterone-crazed, suicidal idiot and I'd be happy to personally set any of them straight. I didn't tell her that when the mission wrapped I was going to recommend her for an officer's commission. She looked pleased enough at what I'd already said, I'd keep it as a surprise. It felt good to be able to do nice things when I could, and a Spectre's recommendation could go a long way to kick-starting a young soldier's career.

And then it was Garrus's turn. His story was from his C-Sec days, and was a thrilling tale of him taking down a corrupt official by bending the rules _just_ far enough to get an edge in the case. The bottle he held with the weird-ass label was almost empty. I poured myself another drink as Kaidan went next, reluctantly offering up one I'd already heard about the mission that got him promoted to Staff Lieutenant, though he added in a few extra details for my benefit.

Next they asked me what it had been like training in ICT, the N-school. The universal prestige of just being _invited_ to train was enough for some people, but not for me. I saw an N4 when I was still a 1st Lieutenant, and I was a better shot than him. As soon as I was invited to the programme I knew I'd make it all the way to the top. I was already special – they said the way I'd proved myself on Elysium – not to mention the endless commendations and impossibly high test scores – meant that I could skip the usual training at the academy to get my 'N' status. What I'd already been through was worse than what they threw at you at the N-school in Rio. Twenty-hour days were nothing after the blitz. I told the three in front of me about some of the other missions I'd done, though. The ones that awarded me higher and higher numbers after the N until I was allowed to plaster 'N7' on my chest and saunter through any Alliance gathering like I owned the place.

"You were the first woman, right?" Ashley asked, leaning on the table with a beer still clutched in her hand.

I nodded, "Still the only one. There was another that made it not too long after me, but she was killed in action a few months later."

"Wasn't it difficult, though? Training with only men around?"

I shrugged, "It was fine. I wouldn't have been there if I couldn't look after myself. By the end we were all on pretty good terms." Pretty good terms meant the others either knew to stay out of my way, were something close to friends, or were like Luca, the N5 I'd been hooking up with since we'd met. I tried to remember what he looked like, and I couldn't. Whenever I thought of the moments we'd spent together, half-hours snatched in abandoned dorms or hanger bays, another face was there instead. I swallowed and told myself it was the rum and the too-long dry spell talking.

Ashley told me she was only asking because of a vid she'd seen on the extranet about training in the Ns. I thought she'd meant some recruitment ad, but it turned out someone had been filming one of the unofficial sparring matches we'd had with a group of mercenaries when we were bunkered down one time waiting for orders. So, with some prodding from her and the others, and with another drink inside me, I told them about the time a mercenary twice my size had made the mistake of calling me a 'chick' and asking if my gun was too heavy. He'd thought it was a joke when I said I didn't need a gun to take them out. He wasn't laughing when I knocked him out cold. Three of his friends hadn't taken kindly to it and so I told them to try their luck. And then, in Ashley's words, I '_beat the _shit_ out of them. I mean it was brutal. There were _teeth_ flying across the room_.'

I hadn't known someone had been filming that. Must have made for pretty good viewing. Everyone knew I was deadly with a gun in my hand but not many realised how adept I was at hand-to-hand and close-quarters. I _had_ to be. The thought of being without a gun and being helpless was something I couldn't stand.

Those had been dark days. I'd been so keen to prove myself that I'd thrown everything I had into honing every one of my skills until no one could rival me. I remembered looking in the mirror one time with a broken nose that had just been set, scratches on my face, hair buzzed off, and I didn't recognise myself. I remembered thinking '_good'_.

I'd developed a lot since then. Now I had an easy confidence which came with being at the top of your field. But at times like these I looked at my hands, at the scar tissue across the knuckles, the faint pink lines over my fingers and wrists, and thought that while I was proud to be a warrior, to be the _best_, I'd always be the other. An exception.

As the others chattered away, I looked up at Kaidan, his eyes locked with mine, and then he smiled. His face was flushed ever so slightly with drink, and his smile made me feel...warm. Secure. I remembered his words as we sat around this very table last week, nursing our respective injuries, where he reiterated that he liked my scars, especially the two slashing through my right eyebrow, which he said looked like wings. I'd told him flattery would get him nowhere, but, strangely, it had made me feel better.

Now he was looking at me like I was fascinating, like I was charming, and it made me feel strange. I'd bunked with soldiers before, but this was different, and I didn't know what it was or how to deal with it. He was just…_nice_. There was something in his eyes that was genuine and knowledgeable and kind. He thought better of me than I did of myself. And he was really, _really_ nice to look at.

He was also vanilla as hell. I should have been bored of him instantly, but I wasn't. I liked talking to him too much. I liked talking to _all_ of them, really. I watched as Ashley and Garrus began to argue over the finer points of their favourite guns, while Kaidan interjected helpful facts to prove them both wrong, and I felt…content. The world was falling down around us, we were all chest-deep in a plot none of us fully understood, but it felt like we were all in it together. I felt like I was part of the crew, like had people I could really, truly rely on. I'd been in good squads before, but nothing like this.

Kaidan hadn't mentioned the day before, and hadn't treated me any differently since then either. It was almost like it didn't matter.

I propped my boots up on the table, emptied the glass I held, and wondered if this was what security and happiness and all those other aspirational ideas felt like.

The evening wound down eventually. Garrus pointed out that there were nine hours left before we were due to land, and the Mako would need another tune-up in the morning as no doubt I'd want to put it through some horrible ordeal once we were planetside. Ashley eyed the small collection of empty beer bottles by her elbow and agreed that she wanted to be fresh for Virmire – there was no point wasting her lucky streak by being sleep-deprived on the day, after all. Kaidan still had half a beer left and lifted it in an almost-salute as they left for their quarters.

As soon as they were out of sight, with no one else around, the atmosphere shifted. Kaidan got up and moved around the table until he sat directly opposite me.

"I'm gonna ask you something," he started uncertainly, the tiniest slur in his voice that told me he was tipsy even _with_ his biotic metabolism, "and if it's going too far then just say so, but I gotta ask."

I shrugged, acting like I didn't care but in reality fear was creeping up my throat at the thought that he'd demand to know the whole story behind the ink on my neck. Of course he was in no position to be demanding anything as a Lieutenant, but after yesterday – and the empty bottles that littered the table – we were well beyond titles. It terrified me that I actually cared how he felt about it.

"That man yesterday, the one you—" he broke off and rested his arms on the table, both hands toying with his beer bottle, "Was he part of that gang too?"

"Yeah," I replied, running a thumb around the rim of my glass, "but he wasn't anyone important. I didn't see him much. We worked in different…" I tried to think of the right word, "…sectors. He was part of the ugly side of the black market business. I was up top with the boss, one of his bodyguards," I shrugged, amazed at how normal it all sounded now that I was saying it out loud, "no one suspects a teenage girl."

It was the closest to the truth I could get without explaining _everything_. I wasn't ready for that just yet.

He let out an amused huff, like he was taking it all in, "Wow. I mean I guess it makes sense that you weren't just some pickpocket. Some of that talent has to be natural, right? They'd be idiots not to see that." Something occurred to him and he furrowed his brow, "is that why you kept it a secret? In case someone like that guy tried to use it against you?"

"I guess," I replied, wondering how I could explain it to him without using the words 'I don't trust you enough'. "And…well it's not something I'm proud of. They weren't good people. I didn't feel good about a lot of the things I had to do. One day I just wanted out, so I joined the Alliance and the rest is pretty well-documented."

They were half-truths, and I thought they'd do for now, but he pushed further.

"So they just let you leave? I mean they must have trained you or something, seems like a hell of an investment to just let go of."

I opened my mouth with the usual lie on the tip of my tongue, but at the last second I bit it back.

"They _did_ train me," I started carefully, "and that training meant that when I wanted to leave there wasn't much anyone could do to stop me." He didn't know how accurate a word 'investment' _was_. The boss hadn't been the boss when I was just a runner for the Reds, but as soon as I saved his life and he saw what I could do he'd picked me out and invested a chunk of resources into making me a _very_ effective killer. He put me in a private school for four years so I could be convincing when he pretended to rivals that I was just his daughter. I took ballet lessons with other twelve year old girls at the same time as I learned the most efficient ways to end a life. It made me good at lying. Good at compartmentalising. It made me able to deal with things that would make the average person crumple to the ground in fits of tears. As he tried to drag himself away, terror in his eyes as I raised the gun to his head, I told him I was nobody's toy, I wouldn't be _used_, and he didn't own me. I'd never felt more alive, more in control. _Free_.

I blinked and suddenly I was back on the Normandy, I was an N7, a Spectre, and I was actually doing some good in the world instead of just focusing on how I'd survive from one day to the next. I never thought I'd get here.

Kaidan didn't push me for more information. Instead, he seemed satisfied with my answer. He leaned back in his chair, hands reaching up to comb through his thick black hair as he looked to the ceiling and let out a deep breath.

"I…" he started uncertainly, "I just find it amazing that you've managed to get this far. I mean…I know I don't know the first thing about it, but your life sure as hell hasn't been _easy_. And like you said before, you clawed your way up, earned everything you've got ten times over."

He leant forward, resting his elbows on the table. His brows were low and he was giving me the focused, intense stare of someone who was both very drunk and completely sincere. I felt the corners of my lips twitch up in response.

"Shepard," he said in that low, raspy voice of his, "You've got to be the most incredible woman I've ever met. I mean it," and then, as if embarrassed by the sudden display, he shrugged self-consciously and smirked, "But you probably knew that already."

My response caught in my throat. His eyes positively _smouldered_ and not for the first time I thought the awkward yet rakish twist to his lips was very, very attractive. There was something innocent about him that I didn't hate. He was like…a puppy that didn't know any better but to trust and accept you as you were. He had scars of his own, inside and out, but they didn't define who he was. I couldn't put my finger on what it was that drew me to him, all I knew was if I'd met him in a club, or even if he was under someone else's command, I'd have dragged him into my cabin without a second thought. But after everything we'd been through it was suddenly more complicated than that.

"Yeah," I replied at last, glancing down to mask the smile I couldn't stop from spreading across my face, "but you can keep saying nice things about me if you like." I flicked my eyes up to his, aware that I was flirting openly but the heat brewing in my belly told me I could blame it on the rum if I had to. He was a rank below me, but…there was no one else around.

He chuckled in response, low and warm, and I could practically _see_ him working out what he could say that wouldn't cross any lines. _Go on_, I thought, _give the game away, stop making me chase you._

"I'm pretty sure I could spend all night saying nice things about you, Shepard," he said at last, and it took him a few seconds to realise what that sounded like. I smirked at the way he tried to look like he was embarrassed but failed as a grin spread over his face, "I meant…"

"Oh, I _know_ what you meant," I heard myself say as I leaned forward, one hand swirling the rum that was left in my glass around and around…it gave me something to look at instead of him. Instead of those eyes and that _jawline_ and the faint traces of stubble that just… "And you're not bad yourself, LT."

I looked back up at him and saw the way his lips worked as he tried and failed to wipe that grin from his face, an amused, playful slant to his eyes. I loved how easy he was to embarrass.

"Talking like that, you'll make me blush."

I tilted my head to one side, "Maybe that's what I was going for?" I said, knocking back what was left of my drink.

"I…" he glanced down, and for one horrifying moment I thought he was going to tell me he wasn't interested. And then he looked back up, the grin faded and it was just the same way he'd looked at me when his arm was being stitched up, as if he couldn't believe I was here in front of him, like I was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. I felt heat rising to my cheeks, and the word 'shit' flashed over and over again in my thoughts. Acting on someone else's crush was one thing. Developing one of my own was just plain ridiculous, especially on my own fucking _lieutenant_. "I don't know what _I'm_ going for, Shepard. I'm just…I'm glad you're here, that's all. I'm glad I met you. And I hope…" he looked down at the beer bottle in his hand, long since emptied, "I just hope when the mission's over, that won't be the end of it. Of this. I like…working with you."

"Is that what we're doing?" I asked with a gleam in my eye, "Working?"

He chuckled, "I guess not, but even Spectres need some downtime, right? Even you."

"Even me," I agreed, running my thumb along the side of my empty glass. It was late, we had no reason to still be here. It was just like all the other times, when we found excuses to talk to each other, to be around each other. One side of his mouth curved up in a knowing smile I found myself returning. The warmth of the rum flushed through my body. "Just don't keep me down here for too long," I purred, the tilt of my brows making my words just to the safe side of serious, always leaving a way out, "I've got a galaxy to save, you know."

"The galaxy's gotta take care of itself one of these days," he said with a shrug, toying with the empty bottle. And then he looked back up at me, suddenly brave, "Or nights."

I felt my lips part to respond but found that I didn't know what to say. As I looked at him an understanding passed between us, the acknowledgement that the way we were when alone together was definitely something that reached _well_ beyond camaraderie. There was that familiar _flush_, ripples in my belly when I knew for certain that whatever we had, it was mutual. It was easy to pretend it was harmless when it was one-sided, even when it was just a physical attraction, but this…in that moment I knew what he was thinking and it made me feel warm inside.

That smile of his was growing wider, the low light falling on his high, cut cheekbones and giving a sparkle to his eyes. Something stirred deep in my abdomen. With sudden, biting frustration I remembered the blood I'd seen in the shower that morning, and how it explained why I'd been so tense and _stupidly_ emotional for the last few days. I told my rum-flushed body which knew _exactly_ what it wanted that _that_ was the only reason I wasn't taking things further. Kaidan didn't seem like the type to fall into bed at the drop of a hat, but I didn't think I'd have trouble convincing him. Even Spectres needed downtime. So did Lieutenants.

All at once, the room was thrown into sharp, razor-like focus when the intercom crackled, and I saw Kaidan tense immediately as Joker's voice filled the room.

"Commander, just letting you know we'll be arriving at the relay in just under a minute so hold on to something. After that it's an eight and a half hour cruise to Virmire."

"Thanks," I said automatically, looking up at the speaker in the ceiling which doubled as a camera and a microphone. There was a jolt which would have made me stumble if I'd been standing up as the ship entered the relay. At the mention of the name 'Virmire' my mind was filled with the pages of reports and briefings I'd read concerning tomorrow's mission, and as I looked back at Kaidan I knew that this had to be the end of my relaxing evening.

I shot him an apologetic smile as I swung my legs off the table, "That's my cue, I think. Gotta sleep some time."

He nodded, looking a little embarrassed as I stood up and brushed down my pants. He may have been drinking but he was still a by-the-book man and his self-awareness was both a virtue and a curse, I realised, when he checked himself as I turned to leave.

"Commander," he started uncertainly, "I'm sorry if I was too…informal. Unprofessional."

All thoughts of professionalism had gone clean out the window as soon as I'd looked at him through the bottom of my glass. I twisted around to shoot him a glance as I strolled to my cabin.

"I didn't say _that_." My voice was almost a purr. I caught that uncertain expression of his turn back into a coy, knowing smile, and I felt his eyes on my back as the door slid shut behind me.

oOoOoOo

That was the last time before it all went to hell. The last time I felt okay about everything. I stared at a snapshot someone had taken of the start of that poker game, with Kaidan dealing us in, no trace of the mission or its stresses on our faces. Ashley was grinning about something I couldn't remember. It had been a good evening.

I'd been impossibly naïve, though. I thought I was the most worldly woman in the world, but I was stupid to think, even for a second, that I could have a night with that much joy and laughter and not have something much worse to balance it out. I'd learned the hard way that, no matter how hard I tried, good things didn't happen to me. They drew me in and then they shattered before my eyes. I only existed so that other people could get on with their regular, boring lives without the threats of the galaxy hanging over their heads. And they weren't even grateful for it – I bought the galaxy time to prepare for the Reaper invasion and they were making me sit on my ass while that precious time ticked away.

When I closed my eyes, I saw the way that Kaidan had looked at me that evening, with hope and trust and the rush of endorphins that came with a new attraction, the chase. That had been naïve too. I'd told myself it was harmless, but after Horizon it seemed anything _but_. I'd been so good at not caring before. The Normandy had changed me. When you were on a mission to save the galaxy, everything was thrown into sharp focus. You took what joy you could and did your best to forget about the consequences. That was my entire history with Kaidan summed up: pretend it's normal, it's okay, it doesn't mean anything. You can walk away whenever you want.

But it _did_ mean something. And, pathetically, it still hurt to think about.

I ran a finger over Ashley's face in the picture, all that she was could be summed up in that grin of hers – confident, alert, facing life with a grim determination to find a place in it that fit her perfectly. The Normandy had been that place for all of us, at least for a while.

Everything changed when we landed on Virmire.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Aftershock** – A guild-ridden Shepard turns to Kaidan for help when one of their own is left behind.


	9. Aftershock

**Chapter 9: Aftershock**

_Kaidan_

I stared at the screen in front of me, realising I'd been reading the same sentence over and over again for the past few minutes without taking in a single word. With a sigh I turned away from the console and hooked my arms over the railing that looked over the sleeper pods, careful not to stretch out the freshly stitched up wound in my side.

It had been like a nightmare. The kind where the world falls apart around you and you scream and scream but no one can hear you. The entire mission was one devastating blow after another, until finally…

I'd never seen her like that. For a few horrible seconds that were burnt into my mind, Shepard had just been shouting into her commlink, over and over again, ordering Ashley to get her ass back to the rendezvous point even though there was nothing but static on the other side. Her face had been a mask of frustration and rage and _torment _at the futility of her own actions. She'd been _so sure_ she could save us both. It had taken a shout of her name from Garrus to stop her from racing off to find the other unit, the one that held off the invasion while we set the bomb that had only minutes left. She knew that if we hadn't left at that instant we would have been blown up with the facility or overrun by geth forces. Only then had the cold, hard commando taken over and hoisted my arm over her shoulder as she half-carried me to the ship, a bullet lodged in my side.

I'd been ready to die. I hadn't come to peace with the idea, but I was ready for it. As the fresh wound in my side burned like hell, a pain even medigel couldn't dull, I'd seen the Geth ship touch down, I'd thought of Shepard racing to save Ashley's unit, and I'd armed the bomb without a second thought. The timer was simple and could be disabled by the Geth, but if they got that close I'd be able to detonate it manually. It would have been the last thing I ever did, and I'd have been proud to have it on my record. I told her to get Williams, to get _out_ as fast as she could, and I'd meant every word. I'd been ready for it.

Shepard had never hesitated like that before, but I heard it in the radio silence for a beat that screamed louder than the gunfire crackling around us. When she answered at last through gritted teeth, I was overwhelmed by the confusion of relief and fear that welled up in my gut. '_Negative, Lieutenant. We're coming back. Can't risk the Geth getting to that bomb.'_

I'd been laying in the water propped up against a stack of crates, protecting the bomb with a pistol while my other hand cradled the burning wound in my side. The Geth were everywhere. Shepard had been right – all it would take was one of them to get a good shot and get to the bomb for the whole mission to have been for nothing.

Ashley had agreed. The last words we heard her say were '_I don't regret a thing._' I closed my eyes, took in a deep, uneasy breath, and let it out.

Shepard might have saved her. If I could believe it of anyone I could believe it of the Commander. But then Saren had shown up. He'd appeared so quickly and by the time I'd seen him he'd knocked her off her feet and dragged her across the water before lifting her up by her neck. He was twice her size, and _fast_. Her pistol had been knocked out of her hand. My gut twisted with a pain worse than the bullet still lodged there and I'd shouted. I didn't know why, I just wanted it to be over. I wanted him to be strangling me instead of her – I was already bleeding out, it would be quick. For some reason he'd looked at me then, maybe because she had, and that was all the distraction Shepard needed. She'd swung her body around and booted him hard in the face. He'd dropped her immediately and as soon as she had her gun back in her hand he'd retreated onto that hoverboard of his.

She'd launched herself upwards to grab the edge of the board and came _so close_ to blowing his head clean off with the two shots she'd fired in the second before he'd kicked her off. We almost had him. She'd almost _done it_. That might have made the mission worthwhile.

And then as she'd dropped to the ground, saw the Geth forces retreating, she'd yelled into her commlink for Ashley to respond and there was cold, empty silence. Her face had been hard as steel as she ran over to me. I could barely walk and I felt pathetic. I'd done nothing.

And Ashley was dead.

'_Tonight's my lucky night!' _she'd said, grinning triumphantly as she'd scooped up her winnings.

The whole thing was a nightmare. It had to be. But here we were on the Normandy, debriefed, I'd been patched up and was back on my feet, and I _still_ hadn't woken up. Last night felt like it had never happened. I'd got this morning feeling incredible – strange considering how much I'd had to drink – and when I remembered the look Shepard had given me as she walked towards her quarters I'd felt myself holding back a grin, even as I suited up. The day had taken an ugly turn as soon as we touched down in the Mako, and it only got worse. She and Wrex had pointed guns at each others heads for a tense few minutes before she could talk him down. The full horrific reality of indoctrination had been unveiled. Shepard had her mind invaded by another beacon while I'd stood by helpless, waiting for it to explode or for her to go flying back dramatically. And then we'd met Sovereign. That had been unforgettable. But all of it seemed like nothing next to the empty chair in the briefing room where Ashley had always sat.

And now we were pretending that we had moved on, as soldiers were supposed to. The ship was on its way to Feros in a last-ditch effort to find the Conduit, and we had drifted out of the briefing room towards our posts around the ship. I'd looked back before I left, and I saw Shepard standing perfectly still, hands at her sides, eyes on Ashley's chair.

I'd seen her march into her quarters almost an hour ago, her lips drawn together and her brows low and tense. I hadn't been able to get any work done since then. I wanted to rewind to the night before, when none of this had been an issue and I'd allowed myself to think, with alcohol-fuelled courage, that I might just lean across the table and kiss her, to hell with the consequences. I wanted to see her smile again, like she had last night with flushed cheeks and a warm glint in her eye. I wanted to make it so none of today had ever happened.

The sound of Shepard's cabin door sliding open made my head snap up and I turned around to see her stop a few paces from the door, arms folded, eyes moving across the room as if she'd forgotten why she was there. Her fingers were flexing as if she couldn't relax them. Her entire stance radiated a sort of nervous, uncertain energy that I'd never seen from her. As she made to leave I found myself calling her back and she froze mid-step.

She looked over her shoulder at me, not even trying to hide the expression of total defeat, the weariness. I felt my hands itching to hold her, to do whatever I could to make it go away. I could do nothing and I knew it.

"Shepard," I said again, this time quieter as I relaxed my stance and she turned to walk over to me, her eyes on the ground and her hands fidgeting. She passed me by and went to the same railing I'd leant on a moment ago, gripping it with her hands like a lifeline. She wore loose Alliance casuals but there were still smudges of oil and dirt on her skin, scratches and other signs that she hadn't taken a moment for herself since the mission ended. She smelled of metal and gunfire, and like the clear, cool water at the centre of the facility.

"I just…" she cleared her throat, glancing over to where her cabin was briefly, "I just called Ashley's family. Her youngest sister picked up, I had to ask her to get her mom and then…they recognised me from the news, they were all there watching and I had to tell them—" Shepard stopped and turned to look at me, frustrated and eyes brimming with misery, "I told them what happened. And when they realised Ash was dead her mother just let out this _sob_ and…" she let out a heavy breath and dragged her fingers through her hair, "_Fuck_."

"I could have told them," I said in response, wondering if that was why she'd been in her cabin for so long.

She grimaced, "No. I made the decision to leave her behind, I deal with the consequences. That's how it's supposed to be."

"No one could have saved her, you know," I said softly, watching her lips draw themselves into a thin line. "Not even you. There were eight Geth ships landing around the facility. _Eight_. We couldn't have got to her in time, even if we used the Normandy, _even_ if she held on until then. You know that."

"Do I?" she glanced up at me, her brows drawn together, "I'm only here because I've built a career on doing the impossible. No one else could have saved her, but I might have. I _should_ have. If it weren't for Saren, I-" she broke off, frustrated, "if I hadn't wasted time trying to _talk_ to him or going after him, I could have got to her in time. I _know_ I could."

"If you hadn't talked to him we wouldn't know where to go next. We wouldn't even know what to _look_ for, and—"

"And I'm supposed to be the best human operative alive," she snapped, her fists clenched, "so you tell _me_ why I should measure myself against _anything_ other than perfection."

"Because you're _human_, Shepard," I said with a sigh, "None of us are perfect, not even you, even if you _are_ pretty damn close." I saw some of the fight in her eyes die down as I said that. A few days ago I might have been embarrassed at the slip up. Not now, though. "Look, I _know_ you did everything you could because I know _you_ wouldn't accept anything less. So does everyone else. We lost Williams, and it's a hell of a blow, but right now the only person blaming you is _you_."

Her jaw clenched tight, she turned back to the sleeper pods, "I still made the call. I still chose one over the other. If I'd chosen the other way I could have got to her, I could have saved them. You might have been able to detonate the bomb on your own. I made the call, I just…I don't know if it was the right one. _Objectively_."

Shepard was a guiding light, a woman brimming with so much self-assurance and skill that you just _knew _it would all be fine as long as you had her back. Now, though, she was hesitant, and it was terrifying.

"You…you've never been like this before, Shepard," I said, "You've always been so sure, never looked back."

When she finally responded her voice was distant, quiet, "When we talked to Sovereign he said…he said I had '_confidence born of ignoranc_e'. I only think I can stop them, I only think I can do _anything_ because I'm too _stupid_ to know that I can't. And if he's right, well…we're all fucked, aren't we?"

I opened my mouth but I didn't know what I could possibly say. Shepard was too smart to fall for the platitudes that I could so easily give her, and she was too smart to believe that I wasn't just a little scared myself. I had faith in her of course. But we were a tiny crew against an _impossibly_ large enemy. If anyone could do it, it was Shepard. But what if it was something that couldn't be done, not by _anyone_?

I wanted to comfort her somehow, touch her at the very least, show her I understood and cared. But with this shadow hanging over us…

"And Saren," she went on, slowly pacing back and forth in the small area by my console, "he said submission is better than extinction. I think he's fucking crazy, I'd rather die with a gun in my hand, but…he might have been different once. I mean he was a _Spectre_. Why would he just give up? That's what the scientist said – the indoctrination creeps up on you, and by the time you realise it's happening it's too late and you start to believe it. Just like Saren. And it…it made me think about all the things I know and believe about myself and this mission and this utterly _insane_ idea of 'Reapers', and…" her shoulders dropped as she let out a heavy sigh, "_shit_, I don't know."

"You have to stop this," I said, taking a step towards her, "this isn't who you are. You can't let some brainwashed lackey make you doubt yourself. You're _Commander Shepard_—"

"I know!" She snarled, her brows low and irritated. And then she looked at the floor and her voice softened, "I know. It was only when I had to tell Ash's family, and I realised I couldn't tell them exactly what had happened, not just because it was classified but because I didn't want them to say it was _my fault_."

"Why would they?"

"_Because_!" she hissed, as though she didn't want me to make her say it out loud, "Because I made a choice and she died as a result, and when I go over that moment again and again, I…"

"Saren killed her, Shepard," I said firmly, "Saren and the Geth, _not_ you."

"But I had to choose between you or her and I chose _you_." She paused, taking a deep breath and gathering her thoughts, "and however I try to spin it, _that's_ what it looks like. And I need to believe – and I need _you_ to believe – that my decision had nothing to do with you, or me, or her, it was about the _mission_, and that if you had changed places with Ashley I'd have done _exactly_ the same thing."

"Of course I believe that," I said at once, "It never crossed my mind that you were thinking about anything but the mission."

It was a lie – _of course_ it had crossed my mind. When she said she was coming back some arrogant part of me insisted that it was because it was _me_ by the bomb. That very thought made me feel ill, it made me wonder if I'd only been so willing to die because part of me knew – or _thought_ – that Shepard would come back. But if a lie was what it took, then I'd feed it to her.

"Good," she said, unconvinced, "Because…I know I made the right decision for the _mission_. I just need to believe I made it for the right reasons."

There was a thick, stifling silence where the stitches at my side began to throb, and her hard, closed-off expression gave nothing away.

"Look, Shepard…" I moved over to her, leaning against the wall as she stood staring straight ahead at the sleeping pods, "Let me ask you something. Did you trust Ashley with your life? Did you trust her decisions as a soldier?"

She wet her lips with her tongue, and when she spoke her voice was quiet, serious, "Yeah, I did."

"And do you trust me in the same way?"

She looked over to me, her expression neutral as if she was trying to work out where I was going with this before she decided how to react. "_Of course_ I do."

"Then you need to understand that both of us _chose_ to be down there with you. Both of us volunteered to go with Kirrahe. I thought I was going to die, and I wasn't _okay_ with it, but I was ready, and I thought that at least it would be a good way to go. Ashley felt the same."

"What's your point?" She demanded, as though uncomfortable with the whole idea.

"My point is..." I moved closer, leaning over the rails next to her, "...you can't be so willing to charge into hell and sacrifice yourself but not give other people that same option. If you think it's okay for _you_ to make those kinds of choices about your own life, you have to trust that other people can make those choices too. I told you to go and save her, and I _meant_ it. When Ashley told you to turn around and get _me_, she meant it too. Let her _own_ that decision. She wasn't waiting for you to come save her, she was too busy going out in a blaze of glory, a _real_ one this time. You didn't fail her, and by thinking you _did_ you're not honouring her sacrifice, you're making her a victim. And Ashley Williams was _never_ a victim. She died a hero."

She was silent for a while, and then, finally, she glanced up at me with her brows tight in thought.

"I don't understand how you do that," she said quietly, her voice low and rough.

"Do what?"

She looked back over at the sleeping pods, "How you can just say a few words and make me feel better. It shouldn't be that easy, not with something like this."

I leaned forward to catch her eye again, "_Do_ you feel better?"

"Almost," she replied, looking back at me, "Now all I can think about is how when I put a bullet between Saren's eyes it'll be for her. We'll chase him down, we'll stop him, and we'll nuke the fuck out of Sovereign. We'll end this."

"Yeah, we will," I said firmly, grateful that she had some of her old confidence back, "We'll make everything Ash did for us worthwhile. And…I'm behind you all the way, Shepard. So is everyone else on this ship."

She was quiet. And then, as if it pained her to admit it, she looked up at me, "I know."

She moved past and stopped to touch me on the shoulder, in a strange echo of the time I'd been flush with relief when her eyes opened in the medbay and she'd jabbed her fingers into my arm on her way out. That had been light-hearted, almost playful. This was serious.

"And thank you," she said, her voice low and raspy. I reached up and covered her hand with mine, not caring how it would look to anyone else. She felt cold, her skin tough with dirt from the mission, but I'd have kissed each of her fingers if I thought I could have got away with it. I wanted to tell her how thankful I was that we were both alive, and how terrible that very thought made me feel when I remembered that Ashley wasn't with us. Shepard didn't look at me. From under lowered lashes she just stared at my hand covering hers and, I thought, she looked sad.

"Any time," I replied, wondering what I could have possibly done to make her thankful.

When she left, sliding her hand from mine, all I could do was think about the night before, and how it wasn't just the _beer_ that gave me the courage to stop pretending I hadn't been falling for my Commander since the moment we met – it was Ashley too. In the minute when it was just us at the table before Shepard and Garrus came back, Ashley had looked at me with an intensity you only got from the very drunk and very determined, and asked me why the _hell_ I hadn't yet acted on the fact that I clearly had the mother of all crushes on Shepard.

I'd denied it, of course, but Ashley knew better and she was _ruthless_ in calling me out on my bullshit and pointing out that, while she was pretty damn certain it wasn't one-sided, it might well end up that way if I didn't do something about it, if not right at that second then at least _soon_. I wasn't the kind of man to act on something like that straight away, especially not when things like Alliance regs, our respective ranks and my general hang-ups came into consideration. But the push she'd given me had been enough to make me say things I never would have had the courage to say, to just _go_ with the words my brain supplied without taking too much time to think about them, and it had worked. The moment I realised she was looking at me in a way she _definitely_ didn't look at the others, heat had rushed through my body and I'd grown bold. The idea of giving into it, just letting it _happen_ after weeks of denial…it was almost as intoxicating as that spiced vanilla scent that followed her through the air. Last night she'd responded to me in a way that had just made me want to push things further and further until…

Who knows what could have happened if Joker hadn't proved that, while he had impeccable timing when it came to emergency extractions, the same didn't really apply to anything else. It was probably for the best that he'd interrupted. If anything _had_ happened it would have made the difficult decision Shepard made today near-impossible. I knew, even when I set the bomb, that it was a foolish plan, that even if I was willing to die to make sure it detonated, there was nothing stopping the Geth from taking me out and disabling it. But in that moment I didn't want her to think I was expecting her to rescue me because of whatever there was between us. If there was anything _more_, I couldn't imagine how it would have gone. Would she have left me there, trusted me to live long enough to detonate the bomb myself, and gone after Ashley just to convince herself and others that she was _only_ thinking about the mission?

We'd never know. And with Ashley gone, there was no one to tell me not to think about 'what-ifs'. I missed her already.

A shadow hung over the Normandy that night, low and heavy, as we said goodbye to one of our own.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Release** – Regulations are pushed to their limit when Kaidan finds Shepard after a mission, and broken when they seek comfort in each other before a mission that could kill them both.

This chapter is short, but I'm sure the next few will make up for it! Thanks so much for the reviews, everyone, I read all of them and they make me want to actually finish this entire story, so please drop me a note if you're enjoying this, even if it's just to say that you're enjoying it!


	10. Release

A/N: I was going to hold off on posting this until I completely re-wrote the parts I'm still not happy with, but you know what? I can't write smut, and I'm okay with that :) Enjoy your not-very-smutty-smut, lovely readers, and thanks for sticking with me this far.

**Chapter 10: Release**

_Kaidan_

The shadow hanging over the ship only lifted when the shore party returned from Feros, heads held high and flush with success. My side was still stitched up after the last mission – the one on that planet no one could bring themselves to name – and she'd taken Garrus and Tali with her to investigate the colony. Along with Liara and Wrex, I'd been monitoring their chatter and studying the area as revealed by the Normandy's scanners to try to give them some advantage.

Things had been tense for a while when communications were cut off, and I'd found myself deflating with relief when she finally started responding after the Geth and their scrambler were chased from ExoGeni HQ. That was when she'd given the order for Wrex to stand down from where he stood by the airlock, gun trained on the colonists clawing madly at the door as I tried to talk him down.

When the full scale of the problem at Freedom's Progress had become clear, it seemed insurmountable. And then she'd saved _all of them_. Every single one of the colonists that still looked human were kept alive. When one raised his gun to his head, sickened at what was happening to him, she'd forced it from his hand and knocked him out with the butt of her pistol. It wasn't pretty, but when the Thorian was destroyed and they began to wake up, the thanks she received had made it clear she'd done something incredible.

After the last mission, it was a morale boost we desperately needed. Finally, it was all going to plan.

I'd heard before Eden Prime that Shepard was an 'at any cost' kind of operative, and in some cases that was true, but I wished the people who'd told me _that_ could have seen what she just did. It would have been so much easier just to shoot all the colonists down. I knew I had little to do with the mission itself, but when she explained everything in more detail in the debriefing, I felt proud to even be on the ship

When Liara cupped Shepard's face in her hands and her eyes went black I found myself counting down the seconds until it was over and Liara could interpret the images in the Commander's head. When her eyes opened again with a sharp gasp I found myself relaxing muscles I hadn't even realised I'd tensed. We had a destination at last, but we'd still have to report back to the Citadel. It was a needless formality, I thought, but if we could get the full force of the Council's fleets on our side then we'd have a huge advantage, enough to make the trip worthwhile.

Liara was lying down somewhere, still reeling from the after effects of having to force her way into Shepard's mind – a task she said was far more difficult than usual owing to the Commander's abnormally strong mental walls, likely the only reason she survived the Prothean beacons with her sanity intact. I couldn't help but think that being implanted with the cypher _and_ having Liara probe her mind must have taken a toll on Shepard too, and I was proven right when I returned to my post and saw her through the window of the medbay. She sat with her legs over the edge of one of the beds, a hand pressed to her forehead as Chakwas applied strips of medigel to the small scratches she'd picked up on Feros.

I watched as Chakwas handed her something and walked back into her office to the rear of the room. Shepard swallowed what I assumed was a pill and then slouched forward, the heels of her hands pressing against her eyes. She flattened her palms and raked her fingertips over her scalp, and then suddenly she turned her head and was looking right at me. I gave her a small, sympathetic smile which she returned, but it was strained. When she blinked slowly, turning back to look at the floor and her whole body heaved with a heavy sigh, I found myself walking towards the med bay before I'd had a chance to think it through.

She lifted her head as soon as the doors swished open, and at once I realised she must have a hell of a migraine. The subtle indicators – half-closed eyes, tense, agitated fingers, measuring each breath to distract from the pain – they were all things I was far too familiar with.

"Hey," she said in a laboured voice, managing to hitch the corners of her mouth up into something that wasn't a grimace. It was the first time we'd really seen each other since…since the last mission. I'd missed how her voice sounded when she wasn't just barking out commands.

"You okay?" I asked quietly, moving over to her and seeing her nod up and down slowly as she inhaled deeply.

"Just a headache," she said, almost in a whisper, "with the cypher and then Liara...it's a bit much, I guess. She's out cold next door, Chakwas is checking up on her."

I glanced down at the bottle of pills Chakwas had left on the side. I knew them well. I'd practically built up an immunity.

"The meds she gave you take about a half hour to do anything," I told myself that what I was about to say was just me being helpful, but I couldn't pretend that was the only reason, "If you like, I know a trick to ease the pain until then." Whatever had happened before could be dismissed as nothing more than friendliness. But as she looked up at me, her eyes glazed over with pain, I didn't care how this would look.

She gave a small nod and only looked a _little_ confused as I brought up my hands to the side of her head, my thumbs on her temples and my little fingers at the top of her neck. I'd learned it from another L2 many years back, something about pressure and flow and the kind of crap they talk about in acupuncture. I didn't know if it would work on her – it only occasionally worked on me – but it was worth trying. Her short hair felt prickly but soft against my palms, and the skin on her forehead was hot and flushed. So close, I could smell her and it was distracting as hell. I dug the tips of my fingers in and began to knead at a few hidden pressure points on her scalp, and watched as her lips fell open and her eyes fluttered closed.

I marvelled at the trust she must have had in me to allow me to get so close. She hated appearing vulnerable, I knew, but here she was closing her eyes as my hands moved around her neck, her hairline, places I'd imagined touching before but in an altogether different setting. It was incredible to think how far we'd come since the first time we'd met.

She sighed expansively as I flexed my fingers harder, and I felt the tension in her body just _melt_ away as I rubbed my thumbs over her temples, across her hairline, her scalp. I found the hollow at the base of her skull and kneaded it up and down, hearing a small gasp escape her throat that wasn't quite pleasure, more just the sudden absence of pain. I found myself holding back a smile. Her lips looked so full and soft, slightly parted, pouting as her face relaxed, even with the long scar slicing them through on one side. With my hands cupping her head, all I could think about was how easy it would be to just lean forward and kiss her. There was something electrifying about the idea – not just because of how breathtakingly lovely she looked when she relaxed, but because it was something so out of reach, the thrill of the desire for something you knew you'd never have. I couldn't do _that_, but at least I could at least make her feel better.

"How did you..." she started, her voice low and husky. The sound shot right through all rational parts of my brain and lodged itself firmly in a place I'd been trying to ignore for the past few minutes. I could taste spiced vanilla on the tip of my tongue as I drew an unsteady breath.

"You don't get as many migraines as I do without learning a few tricks to help," I replied gently, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face as her lips twitched upwards into a smile, her eyes still closed, "It'll come back, but by then the meds should have kicked in."

Suddenly she reached up and covered one of my hands with hers. Her eyes swept open and her amber irises were dotted with the blue lights of the medbay. My chest felt tight and heavy.

"You should stop," she said, and I felt a stab of uncertainty. Was I out of line? "I mean...it's nice," she continued, her brows softening, lips parted as though she was carefully considering every word, "but I don't want to get used to it, because you'll have to stop eventually. You're pretty good at that, Alenko. _Too_ good."

I tensed my little fingers against the back of her neck, found a pressure point and drew circles, causing her to gasp again, a tiny sound in the back of her throat as her hand grasped lightly at mine. Even though I could see the pain was ebbing away, a migraine could leave you weak and pliable as a kitten. It was strange seeing her like this, and I was glad she didn't feel the need to put on a tough act while I was here.

"So you want me to stop because...it feels good and you don't want to be surprised when I _eventually_ stop?" I ignored her instructions and stroked over her temples, feeling the tension and heat draining out of her head with every movement.

"Yeah," her eyes were alight as she looked up at me, and I thought then that she must be the most stunning creature I'd ever seen, and if this was as close as I could get then maybe, just maybe, it would be enough. Her hand was still covering mine, fingertips soft and warm. "But when you say it like that it sounds stupid. I think my head's still a little fogged up, and-"

"You know I've got nothing better to do, right?" I smirked, and she responded with a laugh, a quiet, amused exhalation that lit up her face, those perfect, high cheekbones and her straight, slanted brows, twin scars slicing through one like a pair of wings that trailed off towards her hairline.

Her eyes flicked down just for a moment, then back up at me and I felt my entire body tense up, warring with myself because all I wanted to do was slide my hands around the back of her head, lean in and cover her mouth with mine. Just being near her would _never_ be enough.

"I-" she started, and at that moment the door to the back office swished open and Chakwas walked in, her eyes immediately catching my fingertips on Shepard's head, one of her hands covering mine. I broke away from her at once and Shepard looked back to see the doctor, her shoulders immediately tensing up.

"Don't mind me," Chakwas said as she moved swiftly to the door to the rest of the Normandy, "I'm not even here."

When I was fifteen, my mother walked in at the moment I first kissed a girl. This felt _exactly_ the same. The door closed behind the doctor as she left the room, but whatever moment we'd had, it was over.

"I should...lie down," Shepard said quietly, glancing down at the bed she sat on, "give those meds some time to work. Can't be like this by the time we get to the Citadel."

"Of course, I'll be...well, you know," I said with a half-hearted smirk, "where I always am."

I went back to my post then, but I knew I wouldn't get any work done. Not while I could still see a few blonde hairs falling over her elbow out the corner of the window into the medbay as she slept with her arms clutching the pillow. It was too distracting. I could move, go to a different terminal, but...I didn't want to.

I felt like if I could just kiss her, give in just once, I'd be able to get it out of my system, this ridiculous infatuation I had with my Commander, a woman who carried a terrifying reputation and looked the part too. A mission like this wasn't the time, anyway. Or was it the perfect time? There were always the regs looming in the background, shadowing over our every interaction. They used to make things so clear-cut, give me an easy excuse to take one course of action over the other, but now, when I disagreed with them for the first time, all I wanted to do was forget they existed. Now, all I wanted was _her_.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

I didn't care who saw. Besides, there was no one around. No one to see me as I sat slumped against a wall, my head in my hands. My feet had taken me here as soon as I'd come back aboard the Normandy, still stinging like hell from the total dismissal by the Council, Udina, everyone with more power than me.

They said I was delusional. That I was more trouble than I was worth. I wasn't _discreet_ enough for a mission to Ilos, and they had the whole thing under control. They stabbed me in the back. The world was crumbling around me, and there was _nothing_ I could do about it. I'd wanted to look out onto the stars again, remind myself of the big picture, give myself time to think of a plan. And I'd arrived at that little window, the one by the drive core behind the life support systems, and I'd realised that I couldn't look at the stars. Because we were still at the Citadel. Because we were fucking _grounded_. And I'd sunk to the ground, knees drawn up, head bowed, arms shielding me from the world, and wondered what I could possibly do to fix things.

I was a fraud, I thought to myself. No one on this ship knew how much of a fraud I was. They all thought that Commander Shepard could do anything, but I'd _invented_ her, I was the woman behind the name, and I was a _fraud_. Everyone had counted on me and in the end it had been for nothing because however much I played the part, however good I was, I wasn't good enough to save Ashley or get us to Ilos on time, or to convince the Council I was right. It was like everyone on the Citadel had been doped up – none of them wanted to see how goddamn _serious_ this was. The crew of the Normandy had been all set to be at the head of the joint-species fleet that would take out Sovereign. And I'd had to come back and tell them that it wouldn't be happening, and all that we'd been through had been for nothing because the politicians _said so_.

It sucked. I wondered, briefly, what Ashley would have thought of all this. Would she have been as willing to die if she'd known it would ultimately be for _nothing_?

Once, I'd just followed orders, gone where I'd been told, got the job done and never cared much for how or why. It worked for a long time. But now I _cared_, not just because of the scope of the thing, but because of the crew and the ship I'd grown to think of as home. I couldn't sit back and do nothing, but that was exactly what I was doing.

I heard footsteps, light and familiar. I didn't look up. I didn't want to see him, even though I really did. It was his fault, I thought. He was the one with the warm eyes and supple hands that made it feel okay to care about this whole fucking thing, and now I had to sit and watch as it ended, shattered right in front of me like _everything_ else.

"I'm so sorry, Shepard," he started, voice husky, tentative, "About the Council and Udina. Maybe they'll change their minds, or-"

"No," I replied, still staring hard at the floor, "they won't. I told you, remember? When this first started, I told you – they wouldn't want to believe in anything they can't deal with. It's happening now, to them I'm just a fucking nuisance."

"And you're going to take that?" He demanded, and I felt the air near me shift as he crouched down, almost level with me. I couldn't help it. I looked up at his face that was so full of faith and pride and _hurt_ that we were doing nothing. He'd been just as angry as me, I could tell. I'd heard it in his voice when he'd stepped forward and told the Council this was the biggest mistake they'd ever make. When I first met him he'd never have done something like that. Was it my influence, I wondered, or just the way this mission had changed us all?

I told myself for the hundredth time that the mission had been the _only_ thing on my mind when I turned back on Virmire.

"We're just supposed wait around and make sure we get a good view when the Reapers roll in?" he continued, "A week ago we were the pride of the damn fleet and now we're just supposed to accept that they don't need us any more? That's _bullshit_, and you know it."

"I'm _not_ accepting it, I'm just..." I sighed sharply in frustration, "I just need time to figure things out. And I need all of you ready when I do."

"We're always ready, Shepard," he said gently, sincerely, "Me and everyone on this ship. But...we're in a rough spot. And I know you always have a plan B, but this is different. This is...hell, this isn't _like_ anything else. But even though _I_ can't see a way out, I know you'll find one."

"Yeah?" I shrugged, deciding that right now I didn't feel like lying about how hopeless it looked, "Well I can't see one either. And part of me thinks that if _they_ don't even care enough to save their own asses, or to trust me enough to take _one damn ship_ through the relay, then why should I care? Why should it be up to me?"

"I don't know," he replied simply, his voice reaching past every one of my defences and hitting me square in the chest as he spoke the exact words I needed to hear, "But...it is. And it's not fair, I get that – you're not invincible, you shouldn't have to pick up the pieces from other people's mistakes. I wish it were easier, I wish I could say something to help, or-"

"You could just skip the run up and tell me it'll all be fine," I said, part of me sickened at how broken my voice sounded but the rest of me not caring. Besides, it was Kaidan. He wouldn't think any less of me.

He chuckled then, a bittersweet sound. "Sure, I can do that. But it's easy for me to say – I _believe_ it, I believe you can do anything," one of his hands moved to cover mine, and I pushed down a shiver at the sudden contact, not wanting him to see how much of an effect he had on me, "and I'll keep believing it, even if you don't believe it yourself," his thumb stroked over my knuckles in an unconscious gesture, "I..." he glanced down, a little self-conscious, but when he looked back up at me his eyes were so earnest, so caring that it made my insides knot together, "I care about you. And whatever you decide, whatever crazy plan you come up with, we're all behind you. Until the end."

I felt myself smile against my will. In protest I twisted my eyebrows into a stern expression, "If you tell anyone I needed a pep talk from you to make me feel better, I'll kill you, Alenko."

He laughed, making it obvious that I couldn't look stern now if I _tried_. I missed the warmth as his hand moved from mine.

"I made you smile," he said, standing up, "that's enough for me. I don't have to brag to feel good about it."

The smile drained from my face as I remembered why I was down here to begin with, and how the entire galaxy was at risk if I didn't get my shit together and figure it all out. "But what now?" I started, my voice uncertain, "We still don't have a plan."

He glanced to one side, down the corridor that led to the rest of the ship. When he looked back down at me and spoke, it was like there was only the two of us in the world. "Then...I guess what we _do_ have is some downtime."

He offered his hand, eyes piercing and to me it was like he was offering a lifeline, reaching past every wall I had and telling me that I wasn't alone, I never had to be alone again, that we were all in the same boat, and I was no less strong because of it.

With a Reaper on the way, now didn't seem like the time to let personal hang-ups hold you back. I'd been carrying others all my life. It would be nice to be carried for a change, to lean on someone else. Kaidan was a good choice.

I slid my hand into his, taking my time and gripping his wrist. And then he pulled just as I pulled, and I wondered if it was a deliberate move from either of us so that we'd knock into each other, bodies closer than we'd ever been before. His other arm went to my waist to stabilise me, and when I looked up at him, nearly a head taller than I was, the embarrassed, self-deprecating smile I expected wasn't there. Instead his lips were parted and his eyes smouldered as he looked at me in a way no one had _ever_ looked at me before, and this felt more intimate, more personal than any of the times I'd casually pulled on my clothes after bunking with whoever was on offer.

I realised I wasn't moving away, and a second passed before his hand on my waist curled up, fingers brushing over the thin fabric of my shirt, a tiny gesture that spoke volumes. I could feel the space between us almost as acutely as I could feel where we touched, the air full of electricity leaping across the ever-decreasing gap. I could feel the heat building, blooming in my belly as I tilted my head up, eyes flicking down to his lips, the very _thought_ of giving into the mounting tension so heady that I wanted to prolong it, delay the satisfaction of taking what I'd wanted for _weeks_ now...

He leaned down, I felt his hair tickle my forehead, his nose touched mine and for an instant I could smell him, _crackling_ with sharp, sweet energy, eezo and something musky and masculine. I felt the ghost of his lips on mine before we even touched. My breath hitched.

"Commander-" I ripped myself away at once, Kaidan's arms tensing and dropping by his sides as soon as Joker's voice came over the intercom. I found my feet carrying me a few steps away, just so I wouldn't have to look at the man responsible for making my heart pound with a desperate, unfulfilled _need_, "-we just got a message from Captain Anderson, he wants to see you on the Citadel in that club, Flux."

"That's great, Joker," I heard myself say in the commanding voice I slipped into so easily to cover anything abnormal going on in my head, "Thanks, I'll be there in ten." It wasn't until I said those words that I realised what this could mean. Anderson could have a plan. We could be on our way again. We had a _chance._

For a few fleeting seconds, none of those things had mattered.

I knew I had to turn around to look at him, I couldn't just walk off, but something fundamental had changed – it was unfamiliar territory, and I didn't know how I was supposed to respond. If he were anyone else, I'd have just told him to wait in my cabin and take what I wanted _then_, but Kaidan wasn't like anyone else. In this, at least, we were equals, and I didn't know what to do.

I looked back, and something twisted in my stomach as I saw him standing there, slim hips and wide shoulders filling out his Alliance casuals in a way I _definitely_ liked, his hands tucked into his pockets. I'd expected him to look embarrassed, at the very least a little sheepish at the near-breach of strict regulations, but instead he was smirking knowingly, telling me with a look that he understood, that it was _okay_. 'Not now' wasn't 'never'.

I took a second for myself, so I could appreciate the picture in front of me – the man that had managed to work his way into my head and gain my trust and a healthy dose of desire without me ever being aware of it.

"I...I have to-"

"I know," he replied with a half-shrug, his eyes smiling, "I told you it would all be fine, didn't I?" His voice sounded so good. I wanted to march over, grab his neck and kiss him hard, just once, but I knew the moment had gone. As I walked back to the elevator I felt something fluttering in my stomach, a queasy feeling that was unfamiliar but not unpleasant, and I wondered if that was what butterflies felt like.

What the _fuck_, Shepard. Get it together.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

The brief time when she was gone from the ship was hell. I didn't know where I'd got the confidence to say those things, or why I hadn't pulled away from her like I knew I was supposed to, but as soon as she was gone I felt the cold creep of uncertainty again. It was seeing her like _that_, I thought, tired and beaten-down and sick of it all that had made me not give a shit about the regs or who might be watching. Seeing her be slandered and not being able to do a thing about it...all I'd wanted to do was make her feel better, let her know that I cared. Maybe even kiss her. I'd almost done it.

For the time she was on the Citadel, all I could think about was how good she'd felt in my arms, that scent of hers filling every breath I took.

I'd been the one to answer the call to the Normandy's commlink, not even realising it was her on the other end. She'd hesitated, like she was surprised to hear my voice, and then she'd told me the news – that we had to be ready to leave in minutes because the lock was being lifted, and anyone that didn't want to get a court martial had better not be on the Normandy when she got back because we were _stealing the ship_. I'd grinned at that, excitement rising up in my throat. A month ago I'd never have thought my response to being told we were stealing an Alliance vessel to go on a suicide mission would be _'now __that's__ more like it_'. The mission had changed us all.

I'd done as she asked – told the crew that anyone who wasn't willing to come with us had better leave, and I'd watched as no one moved, just exchanged thrilled glances and said in response that there was _no way in hell_ they were backing out now. It was good to remember that I wasn't the only one with this absolute, unerring faith in our Commander.

Shepard had come jogging through the airlock and straight into the cockpit where I waited with Joker. That smirk was on her face, the one that told you she knew _exactly_ how everything was going to work out and all you had to do was sit back and let it happen. I'd missed it. When the Normandy was released and we'd sped away from the Citadel, her and Joker both looked like there was nowhere else they'd rather be.

She briefed us quickly, and with almost twelve hours until we'd arrive at Ilos, she'd left for her quarters.

And that was where I'd been for the past half hour, working my way up to knocking on the door and actually acting on the cramps I felt in my chest every time I thought about her. Before had been an accident – a happy accident, sure, but it wasn't something I could replicate. What could I even say to her? _'So I wanted to kiss you earlier but then you had to go and I know you're my Commander and all but I was thinking that maybe-'_

The door slid open and there she was, leaning against the frame with one hand on her hip, a perfect compliment to the deep curve of her waist. She was looking straight at me, a knowing, amused sparkle to her eyes.

"You know there's a camera just above the door, right?" She glanced up to where there was indeed a lens blinking in the corner. She smirked and I felt my face fall.

"And how long have you...?"

"Long enough," she replied cryptically, her smile taking off the edge. And then, in a move that set my heart racing, she glanced around the rest of the mess hall, saw that no one else was there, and jerked her head inside as she turned back to her cabin.

I followed and the door shut behind me, sealing us off from the outside world. The thin straps of her top crossed over the tattoo curling between her shoulder blades, and I realised she wasn't wearing anything underneath. I swallowed hard as images filled my mind. I wasn't expecting _that _by coming here, I wasn't expecting much of anything – all I wanted was closure before the next day. I couldn't face the end without at least knowing one way or the other.

"Commander-"

"Don't call me that," she turned around to face me, "I doubt I'll be a Commander for long after they figure out what I've done."

"What _we've_ done," I said at once, "We're all in this with you – we broke the oaths we made to defend the Alliance so we could defend _everyone_, and I'm not sorry about it."

She glanced down at the stack of datapads on her desk, "You might be, if it doesn't work out,"

"I don't think so," I said with a shrug, meaning every word, "If we're still alive the worst they can do is court martial us, and at least then I'll still get to stand next to you and say we did the right thing."

She chewed her lip, still staring down at the datapads with maps and briefings scrolling across the screens, "You think it's the right thing, huh? I'm not sure I'm such a good judge of what that is."

"You are. And I wouldn't be here if I didn't think so."

"Here on the Normandy?" she started to move towards me with slow steps, until she was so close I could have reached out and touched her. "Or here in my cabin?"

"Neither. But...that's not the only reason." I searched my head for the words to tell her how she made me feel every time she smiled. I found nothing my tied-up tongue would let me say. "I...I came here to say that if things go wrong, if we don't even _make_ it to the court martial, well...I don't regret any of it. And...it's been an honour and a pleasure serving with you, Shepard."

"Really?" Her lips curved upwards, full and pink as her narrowed eyes danced with amusement. "That's it?" I felt myself smiling in response, a half-grin I couldn't stop from spreading over my face. "You're expecting me to believe the _only_ reason you've been pacing outside my door for the last ten minutes is to tell me how much you like taking my orders?"

"I..." The words that presented themselves were of the same flavour as before – admit nothing, leave a way out. The time for that was over. "No, I don't. It's not the only reason. But I...with Ilos and Saren and the end of this whole thing just a few hours away, it feels like we-" I broke off the excuse I had lined up and took a breath. To hell with it, "...I care about you," I said at last in a low, serious voice, "And I think about what could happen tomorrow, how I might lose you, and I-" She stepped closer, so close I could smell her, and my mind went blank. "And I don't know what to say."

I watched her thick, dark lashes sweep across her cheeks as she glanced to the side, then back up at me, her eyes drawing me in. My hands itched to move around the wide curve of her hips, pull her closer.

"You could start by not calling me 'Shepard'," she said, her voice almost a purr as her lips curled up into a coy smile, the scar on one side giving it a dangerous twist. My heart thumped against my ribcage, a rich warmth spreading through my body. I wished I could bottle this feeling.

"Okay…" I started, her name on the tip of my tongue, a word I'd rolled around in my mouth before but never said out loud. It would mean thinking of her not as my Commander, or even as the legendary N7 Shepard, but as a human woman with eyes that could make me melt inside, a smile that made me feel like the only other person in the galaxy, a woman _right in front of me_, who— "Jena," I said, unable to stop the grin spreading over my face at how easy that tiny breach of protocol had been. I loved the way her name sounded out loud, like a shortcut through regulations, the chain of command, all of it, until we were just two people in a room together. Alone.

She grinned in return, her canines giving her a predatory look, making my heart race all the faster, "Now that wasn't so bad, right?"

I felt as though I were on the edge of a cliff, just a breath away from falling. It would be so easy, I thought, to close the gap between us, do what I'd wanted to do since the first time she smiled at me. But once I'd crossed that line, I couldn't just climb back up. I still hesitated.

"I could get used to it," I said finally, swallowing the lump in my throat.

I felt every hair on my body stand on edge, a shiver passing over me as her eyes flicked down to my mouth for a fraction of a second. I'd had enough of watching and waiting and _hoping_. Fuck the regs. Before I could think it through I leant down, closed the gap, and kissed her.

She responded immediately, her lips moving soft and slow as I ran my hands up her arms. My mind went blank, filled entirely with the white-hot touch and taste and _smell_ of the woman I held. It felt like the only thing I'd ever wanted. With the faintest gasp she tilted her head up and opened her mouth against mine, suddenly insistent, _aggressive_. The hair at the base of her neck was like velvet when I slid up my hand and pulled her closer, tongues curling out to tangle with each other. Images flashed through my head of every fantasy I'd ever had about her coming true in this small room of hers. I could still barely believe she was kissing me back.

We pulled apart, but our noses still touched and I could feel her fast, deep breaths against my lips. When I opened my eyes I saw her staring up at me, and at that moment I was amazed something so beautiful could even _exist_, let alone be right there in front of me.

Suddenly a jolt of surprise and pleasure rippled through my body as I felt her fingertips brush down my abdomen. "So," she breathed, moving lower, her hand curling tight around my belt, "want to forget about the mission for a while?"

I didn't think, I didn't speak, I couldn't have backed away if I _tried_. In the next instant my hands dived around her waist and pulled her close as our lips crushed together again, breath coming hard and fast as we kissed, hungry and desperate and mad with desire. Her fingers wrestled with my belt and I felt it fall open as her other hand raked through my hair, nails digging in, sending waves of sharp, breathy pleasure jolting down to my core. Her mouth was hot and sweet as her tongue darted out to clash against mine, my senses full of her rich, heady scent. I found the hem of her top and glided my hands underneath to slide it up, savouring the feel of every inch of her skin.

A thick, primal haze descended, one where there was nothing in the world but the two of us and the feel of our bodies pressed together. It had never escalated this fast before. But I'd never wanted anyone like I wanted her.

She tugged my shirt over my head and at once I had her pushed against the wall, her breasts bare and soft and _perfect _against my skin. My hands roamed over her back, one moving down her spine, across to her thigh, and she gasped against my mouth as I lifted her from the ground and cradled her body against mine, my lips moving to her jaw, her neck as her legs tightened around me. Her breath hitched sharply as I shifted her higher and covered one pert, pink nipple with my mouth. The pressure in my shorts was suddenly stifling, urgent.

I felt the bed against the back of my legs and didn't stop to think how I'd made it there. I lowered us onto its edge, her hips grinding against mine as I kicked my pants off and filled my senses with her smell, her taste, the way she'd inhale between her sharp white teeth as they nipped against my lower lip.

She was so solid, but so _light_. I turned and rolled her body beneath me, one arm still tight around her arched back as I moved her up towards the pillows. I felt one of her hands urgently sliding her pants off of her hips as the other clung to the back of my head, nails digging in as she dragged her lips and teeth over my jugular.

In one deep breath of sweet air I was moving in her and a cry of pleasure erupted from her throat. Our mouths worked against each other in half-kisses, gasps and moans, trailing across lips and cheeks and necks. Her body curved towards me as I pulled her close, fingers splaying against the small of her back, wanting more of her with every breath. There was nothing in my world but the woman under me, the feel of her powerful soldier's muscles working beneath the softness of her skin, the high pitch of her sighs, the total, all-consuming feeling of having something in your arms that you've wanted for so long. I slid my hand up her thigh as her leg curled up and pressed at my back, as if there was any way we could be closer together.

I felt her body swell up, air rushing into her lungs as she rose to a peak and then the shuddering release, how she tensed around me again and again and _melted_ as the waves ebbed away. The breathy moan she let out made it impossible to hold on any longer, and I followed her instantly with a blast of sharp, blinding pleasure.

And then I kissed her, long and slow and deliberate as the tension wound down and all that was left was a warm, soft haze that filled up every part of me.

I smiled as I caught my breath. Her face was flushed, and when she opened her eyes for a moment there was nothing standing between me and her, no barriers, no pretences, just the pure beauty of the afterglow and her nose nuzzling against mine.

I never wanted that moment to end, but I also wasn't stupid. I couldn't demand she care for me as much as I cared for her.

Sure enough, seconds later a playful slant returned to her brows and her expression became sultry, amused, more familiar. I returned it as I rolled off of her, as though I'd done it a million times before, and let myself enjoy the rush of blood back to my head. She closed her eyes again, her breathing still heavy, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead like pearls of dew. I wanted to reach over, brush the hair from her face and kiss her again, but I didn't know if I could. I didn't know if the moment was over and if, somehow, I'd be overstepping my bounds. I didn't know what she wanted from me, and I didn't know how I felt about the idea of just being…casual. I didn't know if I only felt okay about it because it was _her_ bed I was in, and I'd take anything I could get to be closer.

I'd never done this kind of thing so lightly before. But with her in front of me it had been impossible to think straight, or care about what any of this might mean. So much for principles.

With those thoughts clouding my head I sat up and leant forward, running a hand through my hair. I wondered if I should leave before she asked me to.

"Do you have to go?" I heard her voice, smooth and brimming with satisfaction and just a hint of uncertainty. I turned my head to see her propped up on her elbows, her naked body flushed, every curve of muscle and breast glowing in the low blue lights. I never wanted to forget how she looked in that moment. I felt a smile tug at my mouth as I shook my head.

"No," I replied, suddenly bold enough to twist my body and lean over her to kiss the skin of her brow, one hand stroking the velvety stubble by her ear as I felt her relax back into the pillows, "Not unless you want me to."

She jerked her head up to kiss my lips in response, short and sweet.

"If you go, I might start thinking about the mission again," she said softly, her lips twisting into a lazy smirk beneath me, "and I'll need _you_ to help me forget all about it."

Any uncertainty I'd had melted away. We might never come back from Ilos – now wasn't the time for holding back, for biting back words and gestures because you thought there'd be a chance for them later. Later might never come. We shifted until we were both comfortable on the narrow bed, and relaxed. With one eye on the clock counting down the hours to a mission that could kill us both, I watched her breathing slow and deepen until her hand, resting against the pillow, uncurled and she drifted into sleep. When my eyes finally slipped shut and I joined her, a smile was still spread across my face.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

I jolted awake during the night, as I'd thought. For once it wasn't because of a bad dream, visions of the Reapers poisoning my sleep, but the moment I _realised_ it wasn't because of a bad dream, my mind turned to the mission and the Reapers and how impossible and _crazy_ it all seemed.

But it was okay, because Kaidan had roused as I moved and without thinking I had started kissing him again and suddenly he'd kissed me back and rolled me on top of him, sitting up to draw my body closer as I reached a hand between my thighs to find him and all thoughts of Ilos were forgotten once more. It was slower the second time, slow and quiet and without the urgency, building steadily until I threw my head back as his mouth dragged across my neck and my body was flooded with warmth. His dark eyes had burned blue for just a moment, and I thought he must be the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.

No words were spoken, and afterwards I let myself fall asleep against him, the sparse hairs of his chest tickling my face in a way I'd found strangely comforting.

When I woke again, though, I knew the diversion from reality was over. The numbers on the clock told me there was less than an hour before we were due to land on Ilos. Kaidan was still sleeping soundly, his face perfectly relaxed. It was hard to leave him, especially when I noticed he'd brought the blanket up around my shoulders during the night and was cradling my waist with one thick arm. But I'd slipped out anyway, missing his warmth, and now I was fastening the large, ugly undergarment I wore to keep my breasts in check beneath my bodysuit.

My legs felt shaky and uncertain. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to end my dry spell with not one but _two_ large, explosive orgasms just before I was supposed to charge into the breach and save the galaxy. Now all I wanted to do was curl up against his warm body and hibernate.

I didn't regret it, though. Kaidan's biotics certainly weren't his _only_ natural talent. Besides, with the way we'd been circling each other it was inevitable we'd end up in bed together. I just didn't think I'd want him to stay there the whole night…

I heard him stir, hair rustling against the pillows and I turned my head to see his bleary eyes open, brows moving uncertainly as he saw I was out of bed.

"We're almost there," I said by way of explanation, suddenly feeling uneasy without the obvious context of _sex_ to colour our interactions. Now I had to be his Commander again, and with a start I realised that, with Kaidan, it wasn't that simple. With other lovers I'd been able to keep a professional distance even as I picked my underwear up from the floor. I didn't know if I could manage the same thing with him. I didn't know what the night before had meant to either of us, and that scared me.

"How long?" He asked, his voice rough from sleep.

"Maybe a half hour before we need to be prepped to drop." As I spoke he slid across the bed and swung his legs over the side. The blanket was still draped over his lap, but the trail of muscles on his chest went all the way down...

"Are you okay?" he asked suddenly. I nodded, turning back to a folded pile of clothes and tugging out a loose pair of pants to wear until I had to suit up.

"Fine. I've...got a good feeling about it, actually," I slipped the pants over my hips, "I think-"

I felt a hand slide across my belly and I twisted around to see Kaidan, his arms moving around my waist and his eyes warm, like a mouthful of whiskey. I forgot what I was going to say. I had a hell of a poker face but even so I had to press my lips firmly together to stop a girlish smile from breaking through. _That_ was unusual.

"I'm glad," he said, his voice low and husky, "and so do I." I realised when I ran my fingers down the muscles on his abdomen that he'd somehow pulled his shorts back on, and I toyed with the waistline to keep my disappointment in check.

"Are you sure that isn't just 'cause you got laid?" I quipped, and felt his answering chuckle pulse through my body. All I wanted to so was run my hands over his shoulders, around his neck, and pull him in for a kiss. The first time our lips touched it was like a wave crashing over my head, washing away every reservation I had, and I hated that it had taken me that long to just reach out and take what I wanted.

"I'm not gonna lie, it's been a while, but..." his forehead rested against mine, and it was all I could do to stare up at him, "I don't think it's just that." Something inside me twisted and I felt unsure, insecure. I could deal with sex – I was _good_ at that – but I didn't know how to deal with the way he was looking at me now. It set off that feeling in my belly once more, the fluttering, slight queasiness, the urge to bat my eyelashes and look away shyly. I felt heat rising to my cheeks. But that was impossible – I'd already slept with him. There was nothing more to it than that, surely?

Then why had I asked him to stay the night? Nervousness bubbled up in my throat. I _never_ felt nervous.

"Jena," he went on, and I loved the way he said my name, "it's been...even longer since I met a woman who-"

"Commander," the intercom crackled again and Joker's voice broke me free of any illusions that we were on shore leave, not a warship, "we're a half hour from orbit. By the looks of it we should get to Ilos free and easy."

"A half hour," I repeated quietly, glancing away from Kaidan and that piercing gaze of his, "that's just enough time for you remember how to call me Commander instead." It was unnecessarily harsh, but I had a mission to think about and _this_ was unfamiliar territory. To my surprise, with a parting _squeeze_ of my hips, Kaidan stepped back, straightening his posture with a knowing smirk on his face.

"Aye-aye, Commander."

It was professional after that, or at least as professional as it can be when you're both half-naked and looking for clothes you threw across the room the night before. That was more familiar to me, at least. But then, when I pulled a top over my head and made to leave I stopped suddenly, and before I knew what I was doing I'd turned back to him, grasped his face in my hands and pulled it down for one last, longing kiss. Something to give me courage, perhaps. And then I told him if he mentioned the night to anyone, or gave any indication when we were on the ground that we were _anything_ other than strictly Lieutenant and Commander, I'd kill him myself. I had bigger things to worry about than whether my most useful squadmate would suddenly decide my orders were too risky or some such bullshit. I told him that, as soon as we left the room, it had to be as if the night before had never happened.

He told me he understood – of course he understood – and that I didn't have to worry about what we'd done changing anything. I didn't know how that could make me feel so relieved and yet disappointed at the same time. That was all I wanted from him, right?

I couldn't let myself think about it. I had a rogue Spectre to catch, a Reaper to kill and a galaxy to save. Everything else would have to wait.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Stay** – As the dust settles after the attack on the Citadel, Kaidan pays Shepard a visit in the wards.


	11. Stay

**Chapter 11: Stay**

_Kaidan_

The scope of the mission was beyond anything I'd imagined, and, I knew, bigger than anything I'd ever be part of again.

Talking to Vigil had been mind-blowing, the revelation of concepts so incredible that even now it was hard to believe any of it had been real. And then she'd floored the accelerator on the Mako, the Geth had thrown themselves in front of the vehicle and it flipped over as a war cry tore from her throat and we tumbled towards the Mass Relay. None of us knew what was going to happen – no one had ever put a goddamn Mako through a Relay before. There was a second just before we entered, as the light beamed through the windscreen, when I looked at Garrus, his face alive with adrenaline, and we reached forward in unison to put our hands on her shoulders, one last act to say we were in this together, whatever happened, until the end.

But the end didn't come, and suddenly the background noise to Shepard's voice blurred and shifted and we were no longer on Ilos, we were speeding through the air in the centre of the Presidium. I'd felt myself jolt forward, arm wrapping around her chest as I brought up a biotic barrier that shielded the three of us from the shattering impact of the Mako hurling itself into the floor with a force usually reserved for starships shooting through space.

We left the wreckage twisted and burning as we fought our way through the Citadel to reach the rogue Spectre. And then, when I'd thought we were too late after all, she stepped out from cover, hands up by her head, and walked towards Saren. I'd nearly cried out in protest but then I'd remembered that, however I felt about her, she was Commander Shepard. She was indestructible, unstoppable and could do what no one else could.

'_There's still a way out. Take it, if you've got the guts,'_ she'd said, going back on her promise to kill him herself and enjoy it, but there was steel in her eyes, and later she'd tell me it was because she had to believe that in the end Saren's strength, his spirit, was more powerful than the machines. It _was_. With a shaking arm he'd brought his gun to his jaw and blew a hole clean through his head.

I was at the console within seconds, uploading Vigil's programme and opening the comm channels to the Normandy and the other fleets. She'd given orders then with the cool confidence of someone who'd been doing it all their life, as though she actually _had_ the authority to command the entire Alliance fleet. It worked – the Council was saved, Sovereign was destroyed, and the invasion was averted. We _won_.

And for a few terrifying, gut-wrenching seconds after Garrus and I were pulled from the wreckage, I'd been convinced that she was dead. But then Anderson's face had collapsed with relief and I'd turned to see her limping and climbing her way to the top of a huge pile of rubble, that smirk on her lips, and I'd wanted to cheer at the top of my lungs. I'd wanted to go to her, help her to the medical transport, but I'd been wounded too and she had all the help she needed from the rescue team. It hadn't occurred to me that it was all _done_ until a few hours later when I was bandaged up and left alone at last in a room that had once been apartments but was now hospital overflow.

I'd heard her in the next room as she spoke to Anderson and projections of the Council still aboard the Ascension, even as a nurse patched her up. With something like this there wasn't much of a chance to sit back and regroup – they needed to know more _immediately_ so they could fill in those below them with whatever information they saw fit. It was just like she'd said all that time ago – she was the eyes and ears for the greatest powers in the galaxy, and without people like her they were useless.

I was discharged after less than a day – my wounds were relatively minor and would heal on their own, and there were others still being pulled from the rubble. I'd gone to see her before I left for the embassy but she'd been asleep, her leg half-out of the blankets and covered in a thick cast to let the medigel work on where it had been almost broken by the falling debris. I was told by the attending nurse in a sharp whisper that it had taken him _that long _to convince Shepard to get some rest and let herself recover. And so, remembering that to everyone else I was her Lieutenant and nothing more, I left, allowing myself one last look at her face, serene in sleep.

Back at the embassy I got on with the recovery effort, giving official interviews on her behalf full of words like 'classified' and 'ongoing investigations' to give the public a sense that _we_ knew what was going on even if _they_ didn't. It wasn't closure, but it would do until the Alliance had figured out the party line. How did you even begin to describe to civilians what a _Reaper_ was?

The ANN reporters told me that out of the entire Normandy team I was the most 'comforting' to the average viewer. Shepard was famous but her fierce reputation preceded her, and while she could talk her way out of most situations, she had very little time for reporters. Joker was too acerbic, Pressley was dull, and all the other interesting crew members were aliens. I was a clean-cut Alliance soldier with a calming voice who could explain the attack in a way that made everyone look good – especially Shepard – and so my face was broadcast alongside pictures and vids of the rest of the squad, Anderson, the Council, and everyone involved, as an 'exclusive Alliance source'. It was important work, but it was dull, and I missed being on the Normandy. Maybe I just missed _her_.

After three days of barely being able to leave the embassy, my mom called and asked why she'd had to hear about my part in the war from the _news_, when she heard my voice on the TV while cooking dinner and dropped a plate in surprise. She hadn't minded too much, though. I was now a home town hero, she'd said, and her and dad were famous by association – he'd never have to buy his own drinks again. She'd mentioned Shepard too, and I neutralised my expression to give nothing away. If I did, she didn't mention it.

As soon as she said goodbye I left for the hospital again. Shepard was still there, according to all reports, and it had been four days since I'd seen her in the flesh. _Too long_.

But when I arrived she was gone and there was someone else in her bed, a younger soldier, unconscious and hooked up to a number of machines. The nurse said she recognised me from the news and gave me a datapad as instructed, telling me I should try to talk some sense into my Commander and get her to _rest_, even if she refused to stay in the hospital.

The datapad had a simple message – '_Hate this place, gone home – J'_ followed by a number I assumed I could reach her on. I didn't know if the message had been intended just for me, but the use of her first initial seemed intimate enough.

I went back to the embassy room, opened the communicator at my console and punched in the number. My hand hovered over the call button on the holo display, but I couldn't bring myself to press it. I was nervous, a queasiness erupted in my stomach, and I felt idiotic because of it. It was like I was a teenager again wondering whether to call a girl I liked, not a hardened soldier talking to a woman I'd shed blood with, not to mention slept with. _Twice_.

But she was my commanding officer too. That seemed more important now that we weren't fugitives.

She'd left a number. I was just calling to see if she was resting – that was what the nurse had told me to do. I pressed call before I could think twice about it and watched the orbs of light swirl around on the screen as it waited for her to pick up on the other end.

Maybe it was my imagination, but as soon as a beep sounded and the image cleared, her lips drew up in a lazy smile that set my heart racing in my chest. She worse a loose shirt half falling off one shoulder and her hair was in disarray. In the background I saw her apartment – small, sparse and grey, but it was hard to look at anything but _her_. There was the ghost of a scratch across her jaw, but it was healing fine. I had no idea about her leg, though – I'd been told it was in bad shape, and only her hardsuit and the adrenaline had kept her marching forward when it was hit.

"Hey, stranger," she said in a low, husky voice that set my heart racing and told me she'd just woken up. Her head tilted to the side as a hand came up to comb through her hair, imposing some order on the chaotic mess of blonde arcing over the centre of her head.

"Hey yourself," I replied, finding myself unsure of what to say. Was I talking to my Commander or a lover? "I see you've managed to spring yourself from the hospital without any help. I thought you were supposed to stay another week to rest your leg?"

"Yeah, well, no cell can hold me," she shrugged, "Anyway, the leg's fine and I got the nurse to give me enough painkillers to last the next _month_." I couldn't hide my smile. That explained the dreamy way she was talking, and her drooping eyelids. I loved seeing her like this, open and unguarded.

"She told me to check up on you, or at least make sure you were getting some rest," I said, pressing her for a better answer..

"I'm _fine_, you don't need to bother. Besides," she smirked, "with your face all over the news it feels like you've been here the whole time anyway, ANN's the only channel they've got back up on this end of the Citadel. You make a good spokesman – once you were talking for like four minutes without saying _anything_ at all."

"Well someone had to cover for you," I lowered my brows, mock-scolding, "We can't all sleep for twenty hours a day."

"I'm _injured_!" she shot back with a scowl.

"I thought you were fine?"

"I…" she realised her mistake and let out a sharp, breathy laugh, "this isn't fair. I'm on a lot of meds and you're being insubordinate, Lieutenant."

"You're on medical shore leave," I said with a smirk, "I don't think it counts as mutiny."

"Aren't you on leave too?" She asked, tilting her head to the side and rubbing at a scratch on her forehead as she looked at me curiously.

"Technically." I wasn't on active duty, but I was also stuck on the Citadel with nowhere to go but the embassy and nothing to do but _work_. "I've been pretty bad at the _leave_ part, though. The Alliance has been keeping me busy with the recovery and rebuilding effort, they've only had fresh workers in today."

She glanced down for a moment, and when her eyes met mine again there was a playful slant to her brows, a look that said _'I know something you don't_'. "That means you're free, right?"

"Pretty much – they gave me this room in an embassy block and told me not to think about work for at least the next week. Told me to catch a transport off-station if I could but…I don't know, I don't want to go far, and there's none back to Earth for a few days."

"So…you called me?" She raised an eyebrow as a knowing grin spread across those perfect lips. I thought of the last time they'd kissed me, sudden and unexpected, and felt warmth creep up my neck.

"I guess I did, yeah," I mirrored her smile, "I wanted to make sure you hadn't just wandered out of the hospital in a drugged-up haze."

She raised her arms in a sleepy, half-hearted gesture at her surroundings, "I made it _all_ the way home. Well, I'm in my apartment. I think I prefer the Normandy."

"Me too, at least _there_ I didn't get mobbed for interviews every time I stepped outside."

"Yeah. I think I managed to get out of the Presidium without getting caught on camera, but there were a lot of them around," she glanced down, fiddling with something in her hands, just below the screen, "I thought no one knew or cared who I was up here in the Wards but turns out some soldiers I used to know from my work in the Ns are holed up nearby. They were here during the attack and they're shipping out tomorrow to chase down a few geth ships that got away. They tried to convince me to meet them somewhere tonight but…I don't know."

It was easy to forget that of course she would have other friends and commitments. The Normandy had been like its own little self-contained world, and the Ns was a world I wasn't a part of. I wondered how close they all were.

"Somewhere, huh?" I said at last.

"There's this piece of shit club in the lower levels of the Ward, but at least it's dark and no one cares who you are. I used to go there on leave sometimes, but…it's been a while."

"Wait, there are _clubs_ open?" I thought of the devastation in the Presidium and tried to imagine how that was possible. "The attack was less than five days ago."

"Not everywhere was badly damaged, Burkala Ward's almost unscathed, and what with the Keepers it's almost back to normal. And there'll always be clubs open – whatever happens people will still want to drink and dance their troubles away."

"You do know you're supposed to be on bedrest, right?"

"Hey," she shot back, looking almost hurt, "I'm _Commander Shepard_. Maybe I can't leap from rooftop to rooftop but leaving my apartment won't kill me. I've been cooped up in my fucking hardsuit for too long – I need to go somewhere where no one knows I'm a soldier." And then she glanced down, her shirt fell further down her shoulder, and when she looked back up at me with that smirk of hers I forgot what my original point was, "Maybe you should come too?" Her eyebrow was raised in question, her expression playful, never too serious, giving nothing away. I considered it for all of half a second.

"With you?" Yes. Of course. When? Tonight? My voice was level, but inside my stomach twisted with excitement. It would be so good to see her outside the context of the mission, just for once.

"If you want. I said I'd meet them a little past midnight, it'll give me time to wake up first."

It was a strange dance we were doing – she was trying and failing to look utterly nonchalant, and I was doing my best to act as if seeing her again wasn't the only thing I'd been able to think about since she'd left me in her cabin that morning. Neither of us breathed a word about the mission, or what we'd heard regarding our re-deployment.

"I guess I could could stop by," I said, pretending to be casual, prolonging the illusion that she wasn't the only thing on my mind, "it'd probably do me some good to get out of here anywhere."

Her eyes dropped to the keypad below the screen, lips pursing a little as she typed out an address that flashed up on in front of me a moment later. I had no idea where that sector was, or how to get there, but I'd worry about that later.

"It's a little out of the way…" she started, "but with your face all over every working display in the Citadel it might be worth it to go somewhere a little further out. At least this way you can see for yourself that my leg and I are doing just fine."

I opened my mouth to reply, to say something about how I was looking forward to doing just that, when a loud, sharp buzz came from somewhere to her right. She glanced up and then back to the screen as she pulled her shirt into a more presentable shape, "Ah shit, that's for me, I got my stuff delivered from the Normandy. Catch you later, Alenko."

The last thing I saw before the screen went blank were the sparrows trailing down her forearm as she reached on top of the display to switch it off. I tried to reconcile her use of my last name with the relaxed, hazy look in her eyes which I hoped wasn't just because she was drugged. I didn't know what the invitation meant, but I didn't care – it would just be good to see her, to convince myself after the fast-paced madness of the mission that she was alive and in one piece, and that the night before Ilos hadn't just happened in my mind.

All I needed to do _now_ was search through everything I owned to find a shirt that didn't have an Alliance logo on it.

oOoOoOo

The sector was _a long way_ up the Citadel arms, no wonder it hadn't been badly damaged. By the time I got to the club, an hour after midnight, the place was rammed. I was surprised to see so many people out after the hellish week they must have had, but it was like Shepard said, people always wanted to drink and dance to forget what was going on around them. The place was dark, with low ceilings and shadowed corners, and the music was the sort you heard everywhere, where one song drifted into the next without anyone noticing.

I couldn't see her but that was no surprise. There was a raised dance floor packed with people of all races, and I saw a few marines scattered about, their dog tags proudly on display. They all had at least one civilian fawning over them, and I supposed that, given the Alliance's high profile in the attack, being a soldier must have been decent currency on the Citadel. I just hope no one recognised me out of my uniform. Dressed in black and grey I blended in well enough, but it had been a while since I'd come to a place like this as a civilian, or at all.

I was weaving through the crowd to get to the bar when I saw her – or rather I caught sight of that tattoo between her shoulder blades. The group between us moved out of the way, and I saw her at the edge of the raised dance floor, the blue-black slip of a dress she had on hugging every well-muscled curve of her body. Her upper arms were covered, likely to hide her distinctive tattoos, but the back plunged down to her waist, with only a few straps crossing over her skin to hold it together. I'd seen her naked, I thought, but this was still…_well_, it was hardly Alliance issue.

And then I felt a stone drop through my insides as a hand curved around her waist, belonging to a man half a head taller than her and twice as wide, dog tags around his thick neck and hair buzzed off at the sides in a traditional marine cut. He leant forward to say something in her ear, fingers brushing over her bare back, and I turned away at once. There was no real arrangement between us, I thought to myself, she could do whatever she liked. I'd known from the start that there was a good chance that night before Ilos would be all there ever was, and with our deaths on the horizon I'd been at peace with the idea. But now the sight of his hands on her made me itch to flare up my biotics and throw him through the ceiling.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her put her hand over his and then, gently but firmly, push it away. I felt the tension drain from my body. She leaned up to say something back and then, before he could respond, moved past him towards a wide set of doors in the back, his eyes following her across the room as though he couldn't understand what had just happened. Taking a deep breath, I turned away from the doors and went to the bar to order a drink, something strong, I was too sober for a place like this. After a few minutes I headed through the back doors to find her. This part was in the open air and looked over the blinking lights of the ward as trails of cigarette smoke curled up to the roof of the artificial atmosphere above.

I saw her in the corner, arms resting on the short wall as she looked out on the Citadel, back arched ever so slightly, one boot rubbing up behind the other. I felt the familiar stirrings of all-consuming attraction, the thrill of someone new, someone like _her_. It had been hard enough forcing it down these past few days, but having her right there in front of me brought it rushing back to the surface. A rational part of me said that it was just an infatuation, and that it would pass, but the rest of me insisted that I'd never felt like _this_ before.

I walked up behind her and she turned her head back when I was just a few steps away. Her kohl-rimmed eyes caught mine and I felt my heart give a _thump_ as her lips, painted wine-red, curved up and she smiled. It wasn't naked and vulnerable like I'd seen before, but it was real, playful, and it put me at ease.

"You made it," she said, sounding a little surprised. The man I saw with her before was all but forgotten.

"I figured I had a lot to celebrate," I replied with a shrug. She swirled her drink around, something brown and sweet-smelling. Her short, rounded fingernails were painted with a dark green, I noticed. She must have done that during the time she'd spent recovering. That made me want to smile, and I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was just strange to imagine the most badass woman in the galaxy painting her nails.

She took a sip of her drink and looked up at me from under thick, black lashes, "Like what?"

"I'm on shore leave," I ticked the list off in my head, "We just stopped a war, saved the Council, saved the _galaxy_. Hell, we're alive," I wasn't drunk, and the world wasn't ending, but the sight of her in that dress looking up at me like _that_ made me feel like I could take on anything, "and it looks like we finally have some real downtime." It was an echo of what I'd said only a few days ago, before any of this had seemed possible. Back then, all I'd wanted was to _know_, one way or the other. Now I wanted more, I wanted to know what this was and how I could keep it going.

Her eyes flicked down to her drink, then back up to me. I could have happily spent all night just watching her.

"I guess we do," she said, a smirk tugging at her lips, "there's only one problem."

"What's that?"

Shepard knocked back what was left of her drink and set it down on the wall. She leaned back on her elbows so her hips shifted closer to me, eyes narrowed and sultry. I swallowed. If there hadn't been so many people dotted around, I'd have reached an arm around the curve of her back, pulled her close and kissed her. Now I knew what it was like to have her in my arms, all I could think was how much I wanted _more_.

"I don't have a drink," she said at last, teeth grazing over her bottom lip, eyebrow raised in a challenge.

I gave her a sip of mine – the closest thing they had to real whiskey – and before I knew it she was tugging on my arm, taking me inside to the bar so she could get herself the same thing. Suddenly she wasn't my Commander, we weren't on the Normandy, we weren't even _soldiers_, we were just two people at a terrible club trying to drink enough to make it worthwhile. And I clearly had some catching up to do.

The time passed in a blur – we talked, we _drank_, she told me she'd seen her friends from the Ns, and that she was already bored of them because all they wanted to talk about was Saren and the Geth, and all _she_ wanted was to forget it ever happened, at least until she was back on duty. I'd felt much the same when I'd met others I knew from outside the Normandy. None of them understood the importance of what we'd done, or what we'd all been through. With her, I didn't _have_ to talk about it – I knew she understood it all, better than I did. We'd walked into the same fire and come out the other side. We could ignore it together, like we had on the Normandy. We could forget who the two of us were, in a way no one else could.

'_So, want to forget about the mission for a while?' _I remembered the way she'd looked at me then, and cursed every other person in the club with its thick, stifling air and press of bodies that weren't _hers_. At least the drinks were good, and at some point we'd drunk enough to dance, moving as best we could in the throng of people, now so tight that crossing the room took more time than it was worth. Keeping my hands to myself proved _difficult_. She didn't throw her arms in the air like some of the others around the room, but there was a way her hips would roll from side to side, the barely perceptible shift of her muscles under the fabric…all I wanted was to pull her closer. That dress showed off her perfectly honed body so well that I thought it could only look better if she were wearing nothing at all. Every time I remembered what _that _looked like I had to swallow and force myself to look _anywhere_ else until the image went away.

She stumbled in the crowd and clutched at her leg, at the thick bandage I'd felt under her dress, so I manoeuvred her over to a bar stool and saw a black tube of fabric high on her thigh, clearly something she'd slipped on to cover the dressing. As soon as I'd seen her I'd forgotten she was injured at all.

I couldn't help myself – I leaned in to be heard over the music and told her this was the opposite of what she was supposed to be doing – namely resting. Apparently even when I was drunk I was too responsible for my own good. With a glint in her eye and a drink in her hand she moved her lips to brush against my ear, one hand resting on my chest, and said that if _that_ was what I thought, maybe I should make sure she got home.

The cab took no time at all, but the few minutes in which we sped towards her apartment were _tense_ to say the least. This far out, the cab had a driver, and he was the only thing stopping me from leaning over and kissing her. I felt her fingertips on my knee, trailing up my thigh, drawing lazy circles, the corner of her mouth twitching up as her tongue curled out to wet her lips, her eyes set firmly on the world outside. When the cab stopped I helped her out, an arm around her waist, both of us pretending that it was because she was injured. I felt her body shift beneath her dress as she moved to walk closer to me, fingers clutching at my shirt.

We got to her apartment, the entrance hidden down some cramped alley, and I stood opposite her in the doorway, leaning over as she reached into her boot for her keycard. The door slid open and she looked up at me, a question in her eyes. I tilted my head down and rested my forehead against hers as an answer. She grabbed the front of my shirt and suddenly I was inside, the door closing behind me as her hands slid up the back of my neck and she pressed her open mouth against mine. I tasted the rum on her breath, hot and spiced and I let my hands run over the curves of her body like I'd been aching to do all night.

She backed against a counter, I lifted her off her feet to sit her on top and she slid forward to press her body against mine, her dress riding high up her thighs. She kissed me long and slow, fingers combing through my hair. I ran my hand up the outside of her leg, but as I felt the bulge of her bandage I drew back, suddenly uncertain. I wanted her like hell but I didn't want to hurt her. A laugh welled up in the back of her throat as she pulled me back and mumbled _'it's fine'_ against my lips. I smiled as I kissed her, the tension eased. This was different to before – we had all the time in the world, there was no shadow hanging over every moment, nothing to ignore. We we on shore leave. We had _all night_.

She led me to her bed, trailing with kisses and whispers and laughter. I climbed over her, sliding her dress up and pressing my lips against her thigh, her belly, between her breasts, tasting the salt of her skin and breathing in that unmistakeable scent of hers. Her fingers tugged at the hem of my shirt and I rose up on my knees to pull it off. When I caught her eyes again they were dark and glinting with desire. Her open lips rose to meet mine and she rolled me beneath her, her thighs squeezing my hips as she unclasped her bra and flung it to one side.

For the rest of the night, there was only her.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

I collapsed, panting into his neck as the blood flooded back to my head. Still on top of him, his fingers gripping my hips tight, I felt my body move with every gasping breath he took. As the last waves ebbed away, I propped myself up with one shaking arm and kissed him, deep and deliberate, until my heart stopped pounding against my ribs. When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me in a way that set my pulse racing all over again.

Maybe it was the whiskey, the sudden rush of endorphins, maybe it was the situation, me shacking up in my apartment with the Lieutenant I'd tried so hard to ignore, but I couldn't help it – I let out a short, breathless laugh. He chuckled in return, as though he'd been thinking the exact same thing, and I felt the vibrations _all the way down _to where my thighs still locked his hips in place. Gasping in surprise, I reluctantly shifted off of him and rolled to the side, one arm flung up above my head as the sweat cooled on my chest.

"You know," I started, my voice breathy and exhausted, "I really didn't think this would happen." I felt him turn to look at me, but I kept staring at the ceiling, "Not just tonight. I mean I really thought I'd be able to let you pass me by, but..." I shook my head slowly, and then turned so I was facing him. He had that half-smile on his face, like he knew what I was thinking. I was glad _he_ did, because I sure as hell didn't. Whiskey and painkillers were an interesting mix, and I felt out of control in a way I could _just_ about deal with.

"But you're glad it happened, right?" he asked, voice husky and delicious as he moved one hand up to stroke back my dishevelled hair. I grinned in response and rolled over so my arms draped around his neck. It was a move that felt more intimate than the sex itself, but, with him below me and the alcohol rushing through my body, it felt right. It was so _easy_.

"Yeah," I said at last, "You?"

He nudged his nose against mine and drew me into a kiss. I guessed that was a 'yes'. He was better at this part than I was, that much was obvious. He was different to the others in a way I couldn't explain. All I knew was, unlike them, I didn't want to kick him out straight away so I could have my bed to myself.

I'd met Luca again in the club, right before Kaidan came to find me. Luca, the N5 I thought I'd _never_ get tired of bumping into. He could lift me like I weighed nothing, make me shudder with ecstasy in five minutes flat and be gone by the time I was able to stand again. Kaidan was good too, though. _Better_, even. Hell, he'd made me _fly_ that one time. And I didn't want him to leave.

It wasn't just because he was warm and smelled like home – the _Normandy_, I told myself, not anything else – it was because he made me feel...like he could see right into my soul and _still_ liked what was there. That was something I'd never experienced before, and I didn't know how to deal with it, but something about Kaidan's easy smile, the way he'd slipped right into the role of being a lover, it made me feel like that uncertainty was...okay. It was all part of whatever was happening with the two of us, and that, at least, felt safe.

For now. I was still on a high from the mission ending, not to mention the fact that I was drunk and had just got laid. Things would calm down in my head soon enough, but until then I'd enjoy the feel of his body moulded against mine as he stroked his fingers down my back and coaxed my mouth open with his.

We stayed there, kissing and talking about nothing until we were almost sober and the artificial lights of the Citadel began to bloom into life, mimicking sunrise. It was almost like we hadn't yet convinced ourselves that the mission was over, as though we'd have to get up in the morning and dive into hell just like last time. But this was different. We had all the time in the world.

We watched the lights creep over the wards and imagined the room was on an actual planet. His chest was warm against my back, and as he pulled the blanket over my hips he dropped his arm around my ribs and cradled me close.

oOoOoOo

I didn't remember falling asleep, but when I woke the blanket was up around my shoulders and Kaidan was gone.

I felt the loss like a punch to the gut, and then immediately felt _stupid_. I sat up and looked at the place where he'd been, saw the indent he'd left in the pillow in the cold, sharp light of day. If it were anyone else I'd be annoyed they even stayed _that_ long. Why should I care that he left? I hadn't given him any indication that the night before was anything but a simple encounter between two like-minded people. Sex and nothing more.

Because that was all it was, right? A means to an end?

I glanced at the window, saw the bright lights of the ward, looked at my clock and realised it was the middle of the day. Of course he hadn't stayed. Why would he? To have the pleasure of watching me wake up, last night's make-up smudged on my face, stale whiskey on my breath and my hair in a mess? There was a _reason_ I hated people sleeping over, and it wasn't just because I didn't trust or like most of my partners enough.

I slid out of bed and rummaged in the pile of clothes on the side for some underwear and an old t shirt, something that looked as rough as I felt. What did it matter? There was no one here to see me, and that was how I liked it. The tube I'd pulled up over the bandage on my leg felt too tight so I rolled it off and stared at the gauze below, amazed at how fast the damage was healing. It still throbbed slightly. Maybe dancing hadn't been such a good idea, even if it _had_ been funny as hell to watch the LT try to be a gentleman and keep his hands to himself.

I walked into the main room of my apartment, took in the kitchen area, the sofa, noted it was empty and felt another stab of disappointment followed by a rush of self-loathing. I could hardly believe part of me had expected – hoped? - he'd be there. I needed some alone time anyway. I liked being alone – there wasn't enough time for it on missions. I needed time to myself.

But – and this was the real issue – I wasn't _ready_ for it yet. I liked to be in control, that wasn't exactly a secret. And I didn't like surprises. Whether the surprise was the fact that he was gone or the fact that I missed him, I didn't know. I'd missed him when I was in hospital too. When I'd seen his face appear on my console I'd had to stop myself from smiling like a damn fool and afterwards I didn't know why I'd reacted like that. It wasn't right for me to feel that way, surely?

Hope sparked in my chest when I glanced over at my console and saw the new message light was blinking. I walked over, not sure what I was trying to prove by forcing myself not to _run_, and switched on the screen.

When I saw the message was from Luca and not Kaidan, my heart sank and I wanted to throw the whole machine across the room as though that would make me feel _any_ better. I skimmed the the message, short and to the point as usual, telling me where he was shipping out to, and to give him a call the next time I was nearby. '_Were you trying to make me jealous with that civilian last night? Well it worked . Your move, Commander.'_ That should have made me grin smugly, pleased that I still had so much power over him, but instead I just turned the console off, wandered over to the couch and sat down as though in a daze.

When I'd seen Luca, when he leaned in, hand around my waist, and asked if I wanted to celebrate a battle won before he shipped out the next day, all I'd been able to think of was how much I'd rather be talking to Kaidan. It was ridiculous. I'd told myself I was only saying no to him because I knew Kaidan would be there later, but that wasn't true. I was _still_ saying no to him, even though I had no idea where Kaidan was.

All these thoughts were useless, clearly, because whatever Kaidan and I _had_ obviously meant as little to him as it did to me. That was fine. I'd just call him the next time I wanted a roll in the sheets and we'd leave it at that. It was an arrangement I was used to. I knew the steps.

For some reason, though, I was frowning.

I didn't know how long I sat there, staring at nothing, but I must have been _tense_, because as soon as I heard the door swish open I snatched up the pistol on the end table and pivoted around to point it right at–

"Kaidan?" I exclaimed, lowering my gun at once and taking in his stunned expression.

"Yeah, were you...expecting someone else?" his brows wrinkled in confusion, eyes following my gun as I dropped it to the couch. I saw him glance down at my bare legs, to the gauze still strapped around my thigh and the healing wound beneath.

"I...no," I crossed my arms and relaxed my stance, my heart still pounding in my chest, "reflexes, I guess." I felt embarrassed. That was ridiculous – I was _never_ embarrassed. "What are you doing here?" I asked casually, assuming he'd forgotten something of his. He looked at me like I was making a joke he didn't understand, and slowly raised a bag he held in one hand, branded with the logo of the expensive human grocers a few blocks down.

"You don't have any food in your kitchen," he explained, lifting the bag onto my sparse kitchen counter, "I didn't think you'd be awake yet, I just went out for a minute, and..." he stopped and tilted his head at me curiously, "did you think I'd gone back to the embassy?"

I shrugged, trying to cover the waves of unfamiliar emotions I felt washing over me. He'd bought me _food? _

At once I remembered all the times I'd left my cabin in the middle of the night to find him in the mess hall, his biotic metabolism forcing him awake so he could refuel.

"I can't cook," I responded, staring warily at the bag. Half a minute ago I'd been pissed off that he left and now that he was back I suddenly remembered that I had _no idea_ how any of this worked.

He smirked, obviously far more comfortable with this side of things than I was, "That's why _I'm_ cooking."

"You're making me breakfast?" I asked uncertainly, moving over to the counter as he started unpacking the bag. I recognised most of the things in there, but had only the vaguest idea of how they all fit together. I could only just about brew coffee on my own.

I still couldn't believe he'd come _back_.

"If you want," he said with a small, amused smile on his face as he glanced up at me from the bag, like it was funny that I found the whole thing so odd. I didn't know what to say. This had never happened to me before. Was this even _normal_? Was this a thing that people did for each other? It was...

My stomach gave a long, low _growl_. Free food was free food. I nodded, "Sure, why not?"

It was probably one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for me. Not important in the grand scheme of things, sure, but it made me feel...cared for. He made this small, utterly bizarre act seem so normal, like of _course_ he was making me breakfast, what did I _think_ would happen when I invited him home?

I sat on one of the barstools by the counters, still puzzled by the whole scenario. It wasn't often that I felt uncomfortable in any given situation. This wasn't exactly _uncomfortable_, though, just…I didn't know how I was supposed to act. He looked up from what he was doing, caught my expression, and to my surprise he reached over the counter, slid his hand around the back of my neck and kissed me, once on my cheekbone and again, longer, on my lips. Then he just got back to work, like he was assuring me that no, _this_ wasn't weird, _I_ was, but that was okay too. I felt laughter bubbling up in my belly at the absurdity of it all, and I let it out. He joined in with that raspy chuckle of his, and I gave myself permission to enjoy this odd little slice of domesticity. When I first met my LT I would have never, ever thought anything like this could happen, or that I could be _happy_ about it, but something about this felt…natural, even if every instinct I had was telling me to cut it off _now_ before he got any stupid ideas about '_us_'.

I had no idea what he was doing, but when breakfast started sizzling in the pan it smelled incredible and I felt like I hadn't eaten in weeks. And then, suddenly, there was something on the plate in front of me that looked like eggs and potato and all sorts of things fused together. I took a bite.

It was the best fucking thing I'd _ever_ tasted.

When I finished and I immediately asked if there was any more he just grinned at my enthusiasm and grabbed the pan. As he spooned it onto my plate he claimed it was just something his mom used to cook, nothing special. I asked, so he told me about back home, his family in Vancouver, the incredibly normal life he'd had up until men in suits had shown up at his door and changed it all. In return I told him a little more about the lighter side of my home city, the life I'd had in the Reds as the boss's left hand, working in the shadows, behind the scenes where no one ever saw me coming. I'd got away, but not unscathed. I still had trouble with situations like _this_, for instance. Eating breakfast with someone I knew I liked more than I should. It was so normal, I knew, but so alien to me.

We spoke until there was no real way we could pretend we were still eating, and then after a silence that stretched a few seconds longer than I liked, I looked up at him, still feeling self-conscious and not understanding exactly _why_.

"Thanks for the food," I said, "I think that's the first time those pans have actually been used."

"How do you even _live_ here?" he asked, looking around as if seeing the place for the first time. It was a cookie-cutter prefab, grey and boring, the few guns and exotic weapons dotted about the only real initiative I'd taken to decorate. I didn't spend enough time here for it to matter. With him looking around, though, I felt almost embarrassed about my crappy little apartment.

I shrugged, looking back at the pans that had already been there when I moved in, "I'm too used to ship cooks. And the take-out 'round the corner isn't terrible. But I like your cooking better." I glanced down, toying with my fork absent-mindedly, "When do you have to head back?"

I realised then that I had no idea what I wanted him to say. It would be so much easier if he just left so I could get back to normal again, but…there was something here I wanted to explore. The way my stomach knotted up when I looked at him was a feeling I was starting to enjoy. And, I'd been unsurprised to find out, we worked just as well in bed together as we did on the battlefield. That was enough of an excuse to want to keep him around, right?

"To the embassy? I'm on shore leave, remember. No one knows or cares that I'm gone." Something occurred to him, "Do you need me to go?" He wanted to stay, I realised. _I_ wanted him to stay, but I had no idea how to say that without giving away more of myself than I was comfortable with. An idea ran irresistibly through my mind, something I knew how to do, and I slid off the stool.

"Well...I was thinking of taking a shower," I said, slowly edging back towards the bathroom with one hand sliding my ugly old shirt up my abdomen. His eyes followed me curiously, and as he glanced down to the fabric tugging at the curve of my hip I saw his jaw tense up, like he was trying to stop himself from smiling. "But," I continued, a smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth, an expression he mirrored, "my leg's still a little sore." I pulled the top over my head and dropped it to the ground, "I might need help."

He didn't say anything. A hungry grin spread across his face as he crossed the room in seconds, muscles on his torso rippling as he took off his shirt mid-stride. His lips met mine but the kiss was cut short by the giggle that burst from my mouth as he took me in his arms. I actually _giggled_. In a haze of laughs and half-kisses I pulled him into the shower with me.

He could stay, I thought, at least for the afternoon.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

'_No,'_ she'd said in response, brows wrinkled as though she was puzzled by the words coming out of her own mouth, '_I'm always doing _something_. I want to spend today doing nothing at all. I don't even know what that feels like._' She'd looked up at me then, hair still wet, cheeks flushed, the wall behind her eyes all but gone, '_You can keep me company if you've got nothing better to do.'_ The grin she'd given me then was beautiful – open, joyful, totally unafraid. I felt like the luckiest man alive for seeing it. I'd kissed her, just because I could, and told her I couldn't _possibly_ have anything better to do than spend the day doing nothing with her.

That was how I'd ended up in her bed again, watching the lights of the Citadel flicker through the dimmed windows. It was the middle of the night cycle but the ward never truly slept. I couldn't sleep either. The most incredible, powerful woman I'd ever known was curled up next to me, a blanket reaching to just below the divot in the centre of her abs. My eyes travelled up the trail of toned muscles to her ribs, past the faint scars here and there, the birthmark just below her left breast, the light, raised tissue where the shrapnel had torn open her shoulder, past her defined collarbone, that long neck. Finally I came to her face, relaxed in sleep, warm breath brushing against my arm from her pouting lips.

I wasn't stupid. I knew this couldn't last. She was my Commander, and that hadn't changed just because we were on leave. We could ignore it, maybe, forget it was an issue, but sooner or later it would start to matter again. If this lasted, it would be difficult to hide. If it came out, I'd at least have to leave the Normandy. I wasn't sure what was worse – not serving with her or not being able to touch her now that I knew what it felt like.

But for tonight, none of that mattered. I'd enjoy what I had while it lasted. She'd taught me about that. She'd said once that her life was a gift. She should have died so many times, saved only by her extraordinary skills. She fought because it was the only thing to do when you were that skilled and lusted for combat. She _survived_ because when you lived on borrowed time, you wanted to savour everything you had. It made sense. I'd always been so cautious, but my caution hadn't been what landed me _here_.

With every other woman I'd been with, I could say exactly what it was that I found attractive about them, exactly what I _liked_ about them. I couldn't do that with Shepard. _Jena_, I corrected myself. Here, we weren't soldiers. When I thought of her, or saw her as she was now, I couldn't pinpoint why it was that all I could do was smile dreamily and pray it never ended. There was something about her, something about her spirit that was magnetic and had been drawing me in since the first time I met her. She'd defied every one of my expectations, forced me to take a long, hard look at myself, and made me a part of something incredible. And now I was in her bed, and all I could do was be astonished that a fire as bright as hers could even _exist_, let alone be right here in my arms.

I knew I was falling – hard – and I knew it was ridiculous to think anything could come of it. But that morning I'd taken a risk, and it had made me believe, just for a moment, that this was real. I'd seen the total confusion on her face as I did something as simple as cook breakfast, and I'd kissed her, if only to reassure myself that it was all okay. And she'd _laughed_, real and joyful, like a child on Christmas morning, still baffled but happy about it all. It was a sound I never thought I'd hear from her, and it seemed both out of character and _perfect_ at the same time. Thinking of it still made me feel warm. Maybe that was just the feel of her body curved against mine.

I kissed her temple, just because I could, and in my head I pretended this could last forever.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

It had been a _week and a half_, and he was still here, and I still wasn't bored of him.

I didn't know _how_ the fuck it had happened. It started with us not wanting to get dressed or go outside where everyone knew our faces. My apartment was so out of the way, that for him to go back to that plain embassy cell surrounded by rubble and soldiers would take _a lot_ of mental effort. The mission had taken it out of both of us, even if we hadn't noticed at the time, and at least the burden of that was something we could ignore and forget about _together_. Whenever the idea of him leaving was raised, we found excuses – it was too late, something good was on the local vid network, one of us – usually him – was getting hungry. They were excuses we both swallowed without a second thought. Neither of us could apparently say the words out loud – '_Just stay here, stay as long you can. I don't know what this is but I don't want it to end.'_

He went back one afternoon when he realised he hadn't checked his messages in a few days. That night I'd been so bored that I hadn't known what to do with myself. But he'd returned the next morning with fresh clothes and energy, and his excuse was that _someone_ had to make sure I didn't starve to death. I thought I'd needed some time for myself, but in just a few days I'd got used to him being there. And so he stayed, and we pretended there was nothing unusual about it. We didn't even _talk_ about it. We watched old vids he liked after I admitted I wasn't exactly cultured, he cooked me incredible meals, we slept _a lot_ and I got to indulge my over-active sex drive – something he thankfully seemed to share. He blamed it on the fact that he was still eating like a biotic but not fighting like one, so he had excess energy to burn off. I was always happy to help.

It was, I thought, the first real _holiday_ I'd ever had. A chance to do nothing and feel good about it. I'd never done this before, but I liked it. With him there, it was so _easy_ to ignore the alarm bells ringing in my head that told me no good could come of it and just let it _happen_. Doing nothing was so much easier when there was another person involved. Especially when that person was Kaidan, who made everything feel just..._fine_.

He'd do things I didn't understand which sent questions racing through my mind. When we sat on the couch staring at pictures flickering on the screen, he'd draw me close to him, sometimes he'd cover my hand with his, thumb stroking over my knuckles absent-mindedly, like he didn't even realise he was doing it but it would be _all_ I could focus on. He'd kiss me for no reason, it seemed, than because he wanted to kiss me. I started doing the same thing, and found I liked it. There was something sweet about it, the admission that you were sentimental enough to just want _a_ _kiss_. He tried to snap pictures of me with his omnitool, and I'd had to convince him to stop – not because I hated it, but because I didn't want to share this with anyone else, and I didn't want to think of a time when he'd be gone and would need to look at a picture instead of at _me_. I found myself waking up closer and closer to him, our fingers sometimes intertwined, legs tangled together. I'd open my eyes, see him lying there, and I'd bite back the smile spreading over my face, feeling like he was my own perfect little secret.

Eventually he got into the habit of calling me by my first name, and I loved how it sounded. It let me forget about Commander Shepard, the name with so much tied up around it that war was never far from my mind. When he called me Jena, it let me pretend, just for a little while, that I was a woman like any other who just happened to be spending time with a man I was starting to care for day by day. It let me pretend that the hours weren't counting down to when I'd have to strap on my hardsuit and start calling him Lieutenant again and act like this never happened.

I told myself that letting this go would be easy. As the days rolled into each other, I started to doubt that was true.

We talked about everything _except_ the Alliance. I told him things I'd never told a soul, just because I knew I could trust him. I told him all about how I'd shot my way out of my old life, and what it had taken for me to get to where I was now, only leaving out a few crucial details so I had something to keep to myself. He never judged, and just took in everything I said with an acceptance that made me doubt I'd ever had anything to hide in the first place.

He made me feel so _normal_, just like him. And he made _being_ with him feel normal too. I kept expecting him to want to talk about what was happening or '_what we were' _– all things I'd seen in vids and didn't much understand, but he didn't. It just…it was what it was, and it was all I needed. He seemed to be able to sense when I was getting unsure, or when anxiety over our new-found closeness began to gnaw at my stomach, and he banished it with a kiss, a gesture, an insistence that I _had_ nothing to be anxious about.

To be dramatic, it was like he'd come into my life to tell me that, actually, I could have the same good things as everyone else – and what's more, I _deserved_ them. It wasn't all going to come crashing down around my shoulders and no one was going to call me pathetic if I just admitted that I _liked_ it. This was what normal people did when they started sleeping together – they didn't do that ridiculous dance I was so familiar with where I ignored them, acted totally indifferent, took what I wanted and then left. Now, _this_ was what I wanted. And I didn't want him to leave.

That was what I thought as I found myself stirring from sleep, inhaling his familiar scent and feeling his warmth through my cheek pressed against his chest. I felt the thin fabric of his shirt between us, and opened my eyes to see we were on the couch in the main room of my apartment, lights off and vid credits flickering over the screen. I couldn't remember what we'd been watching. He told me it was a classic, but it can't have been _that_ good as we'd both fallen asleep. He was lying with his head against the armrest, one leg resting lazily up on the couch, and I was draped over him like a rag doll.

It was moments like this that scared me at times – moments that seemed more intimate than sex, things that would shatter the reputation I'd built up if anyone else could see. Good thing we were alone.

I eased myself up on one elbow so my face was just above his, and I stared down at the man I'd caught myself. Half his face was lit up by the screen, the other half in darkness, all sharp shadows and strong cheekbones. I'd done _good_.

That wasn't just it, though, and I knew it. There was a twisting in my gut when I looked at him, a warm, fluttering feeling that wasn't unpleasant but was still an unknown. I thought it must be what happened when you found something you were scared of losing. And I _was_ scared to lose him. I was scared that as soon as duty called he'd thank me for the ride and we'd go back to being comrades in arms and nothing more. I didn't know _what_ we were, but I knew I couldn't act like he was just a soldier to me – not all the time. I was good at keeping secrets. I wanted him to be _my_ secret.

At least for a little while.

His eyes twitched and opened suddenly, and before they'd even focused a sleepy, satisfied smile spread across his lips. One of his arms was curved around my back and he brought his other hand up to cup my face, fingers stroking my hair back.

"Damn," he muttered, eyes half-closed, "you're so beautiful, you know that?"

I felt the breath fly from my lungs. I'd been called a lot of things – stunning, eye-catching, _striking_ was a favourite. But no one had ever called me 'beautiful' without adding '_but deadly_' and thinking they were so fucking original for noting how the scars that cut through my face somehow took away my right to feel _pretty_. But Kaidan liked the scars too, apparently he thought they and I were beautiful. And this idiot was half-asleep, he wasn't even _thinking_ about it. He didn't care what others saw in me – he'd never cared. All he'd ever cared about was…me. Could this be what I'd dismissed in others as total insanity for such a long time? There was that warm, churning feeling that fluttered its way from my abdomen right to my throat and made it seize up as I tried to respond. I felt my heart give a _thump_ like it forgot what it was supposed to be doing.

And then I found myself leaning down to respond, pressing my lips to his, feather-light, my hands curling up over his shoulders. It must have been the most tender thing I'd ever done. I looked at him after, and his eyes were staring into mine like he was trying to understand everything about me, memorise my face in that one moment.

He drew me closer and kissed me, slow and longing, stoking the fires in my belly. I felt my brows knit together like I was in pain as lust and affection and total _confusion_ warred in my head. I led him by the hand to my bedroom, and this time it was different yet again. The first time we were together it had been about snatching a few hours of life before we went to our deaths. Afterwards it had been about light and laughter and the excitement of something new. Now I didn't know _what_ this was, just that my fingers were weaving through his, I felt a thrill deep in my body when he whispered my name, and later I curled up against him and thought that, if I was still pretending, then I never wanted to stop.

The next few days were..._perfect_.

It took all the strength of character I had to just go with the flow and let myself feel genuinely _giddy_ for a while. I don't think he realised how foreign all of this was to me or if he _did_ then he didn't show it. I didn't like not being in control of my own emotions, but the things I felt when I looked at him filled me with so much warmth that I just didn't care. Alarms rang in my head and I ignored them. I told myself that what happened in the future didn't matter. I was just experimenting with an idea I'd ignored my whole life – the idea that I could be happy with just one person.

And Kaidan…made me _happy_. The thought came to me once, clearly and simply, as I came out of the shower to see him sitting in front of my console. The sudden rush of affection I had for him at that moment was something I'd never experienced before. With his encouragement I'd learned to take pleasure in the little things, the aspects of having a lover around full-time. It was just as fun, I realised, to steal kisses and measure your days in laughter as it was to manipulate and stay detached so you could keep the upper hand as I'd always done in the past. And so I moved over to him, slid my arms over his shoulders and down his chest as I leaned in close to press my cheek to his, enjoying the raw smell of him in contrast to my clean, pink skin.

He was ordering groceries, I noticed, which was good because we were low on food and I didn't want to have to put on actual clothes to leave the apartment. He stopped what he was doing to plant a quick, affectionate kiss on my cheek, and only then did he seem to notice I was naked but for the towel wound around my chest. With my lips to his ear I told him to be quick about it, and I felt his eyes on me as I turned back and headed to my bedroom. I could picture his exact expression, arousal mixed with a sort of childlike excitement that tugged at his lips. I pictured his mouth falling open as I decided, at the last second before I went through the door, to shrug the towel from my body and drape it over an arm.

I loved the power balance we had together, even though I wasn't always in charge. With some men it was like I had to fight just to make them see me as something other than a conquest. It wasn't that I wanted them to see me as a person with _feelings _and shit, it was that _I_ wanted to be the one using and discarding people, not the other way around. I wanted to be the one acting cold and indifferent because, often as not, that was how I felt. With some men, the powerful or just insecure, that could be a struggle. With Kaidan, though…he acted like he was thankful for every moment he spent with me, but in a way I found strangely endearing. It wasn't quite _gratitude_, it was more…an understanding that the time we had on leave was both limited and precious, and he made it obvious that he was happy to be spending it with me. And because I trusted him more than I'd trusted any lover before, I could let myself go, I could let him control some of our encounters and know that he still respected me as a Commander, a warrior and a woman. I couldn't put it in any other way. I barely understood what this _was_, and I had so little that I wanted to compare it to.

I started to pull on some underwear and bit back a giggle as I felt his hands slide into mine, stopping me halfway up my thighs. His lips moved across my shoulder as he slowly, deliberately, pulled them back down again. Naked, I turned and ran my fingers up the back of his neck, pressing myself against him and feeling a promising bulge against my belly. He kissed me hungrily, urgently, as though I hadn't moaned his name against his mouth that very morning. When he tossed me onto the bed like I weighed nothing and climbed over me to lay a trail of kisses down my body, I felt aglow with happiness.

Later, as we lay tangled up together, my cheek pressed to the hollow of his shoulder as he trailed his fingers up and down my back, I understood how being with him was so different to all the others. With Kaidan, it _mattered_ that it was him and no one else. I couldn't pinpoint why, exactly, just that I didn't _want_ anyone else, and that this closeness, this intimacy we'd built up since he'd been here was a beautiful thing all on its own, even without the sex. He made me understand what other people meant when they said something made them 'feel young' – my youth had been full of pain, but now I was brimming with life and laughter in a way I'd never been before. Every time he locked eyes with me I felt happiness ripple up my throat, a kind of nervous excitement at the idea that I could actually _be_ like this, and that he was here and he was all _mine_.

I shifted against him and kissed him again, just because I could, and I smiled against his lips as he rolled me underneath him and cradled me in his much larger arms. When I opened my eyes he was staring straight at me, his brow knit together in thought, a faraway look in his eyes.

"What?" I said suddenly, if only to break the tension. He grinned down at me, looking almost sheepish.

"It's just…I…" he nudged his nose against mine affectionately, "I like you, Jena. I really do."

I could feel the blood pounding in my ears and twisted my lips into a smirk to cover the panic I felt creeping up my arms. This sounded…serious. It was attached to emotions I didn't understand and couldn't deal with, at least not just yet. There was a danger in exposing yourself like that. And he just made it seem so _easy_ but to me it was like learning to walk after spending your whole life doing nothing but running. I'd been doing a good job of pretending I was comfortable with this so far, but it was hard to unlearn a life's worth of pushing people away.

"Well that's good," I said casually, "Otherwise it might be a little awkward, what with all the sex." It sounded glib, light-hearted, and he laughed, but inside I was in turmoil, because all I wanted to tell him was how I'd come to care for him more than I ever thought possible and how the very thought of letting myself fall further just _terrified_ me because everything else I'd ever cared about had always shattered right in front of me and—

He kissed me, a smile still pulling at his lips, and my world went soft.

I ran my hands up his back, felt the powerful muscles working beneath his skin, the rough lines where he'd been scarred and marked by battle, and I told myself that he was different. _This_ was different. I was strong as hell, we both were, and I could protect this. I could keep him as my own perfect little secret, my favourite indulgence, something _no one_ was strong enough to take away from me.

I was good at keeping secrets. This could work.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

After two weeks, the call came.

It was like waking up from the best dream you'd ever had to find that the world was just as ugly and grey as you remembered it. We both knew it was coming eventually, but it had been so, so nice to just _pretend_ for a while that none of that had mattered, and that we could spend as long as we liked just wrapped up in each other, exploring whatever it was that we had together.

But the great Commander Shepard was never going to get more than two weeks leave, even with an injury that had long since healed. The geth had been spotted far away in the Terminus systems, and no ship but the Normandy could take them out. No one but Commander Shepard and her trusted crew.

I didn't want to have to start calling her Commander again – I'd only just got used to calling her Jena.

Her face had fallen as she'd turned from the vid screen, a familiar line between her brows that I hadn't seen for a while was suddenly back. It was then that I knew for sure – she'd been pretending too. It was probably the only way she'd allowed herself to drop her guard enough to let me stay there and see a simple, beautiful side of her I doubted anyone had ever seen before. I hadn't wanted to let her go yet. I _never_ wanted to let her go.

I'd gone over to her, taking in her slumped shoulders, the serious expression as she sat back in the chair, and I'd knelt between her legs, sliding my arms around her waist and drawing her close, my forehead resting against hers. She'd smiled in response, a small, dejected smirk that told me she was thinking what I was thinking – this had been too much fun to just let go of.

I'd told her that whatever we had didn't have to stop, that we could keep it a secret, even on a ship like the Normandy. She'd replied that she was glad I felt that way – because while she _had_ to keep me around for my skills as a biotic and a soldier, she wasn't sure she could have me on board _and_ keep her hands off of me. I'd kissed her then, and as I'd gathered my things the next morning to finally head back to the embassy, we'd worked out the parameters of what we could get away with on duty.

Of course _no one_ could know. That much was obvious. The Normandy had cameras in every corner that seemed to pop up in front of Joker at random, so anywhere outside her cabin was a no-go, even for looks or the slightest, briefest touch. It would be hard when I'd got so used to pulling her in for a kiss whenever I wanted. She'd have to pretend she didn't know what my cooking tasted like, and I'd have to act as though I didn't have a mental map of every scar and freckle and mark on her body. It would be difficult, to say the least, but it would work. It _had_ to. I couldn't let her go.

There were other considerations too. I couldn't sleep in her cabin as I'd be missed in the sleeper pods. I could only come to see her when there was no one else about, I could only leave when the coast was clear.

That was how, almost two weeks into active duty, I found myself staring at the vid display just inside her door, waiting for the engineer sitting at the table to move along so I could leave the cabin without being seen.

"He's not moving," I said with a sigh, turning back to see her lying on her front on the bed, propped up on her elbows as she scrolled through a datapad, the blanket _just_ reaching above curve of her rear.

In an elegant motion she rolled onto her back and swung her legs over the side of the bed. My eyes followed her every move as she glided, hips rolling, entirely naked, over to where I stood. I'd touched and kissed every inch of her body, but I still couldn't get enough of just _looking_ at her, especially when she gave me that little sideways glance, the secret look that said we were on exactly the same wavelength. She leant over the screen, pressed a button I didn't even know was there, and spoke an order for the engineer to check some part of the ship she was _sure_ she'd heard rattling strangely a while ago. He got to his feet, saluted in a confused manner at somewhere near the camera, and left.

"Pretty cool, huh?" she purred, bringing her arms up to rest lazily around my shoulders. I felt my hands move to the curve of her soft, warm hips without a second thought, and reminded myself that, however much I wanted to stay, I _had_ to go. We'd worked this out before, and we had to follow our own rules or we'd get sloppy, get _caught_. We'd already broken that rule three times, when she'd pulled me back into bed, I hadn't even _tried _to resist, and I'd stayed the night. The last time had been difficult to explain to others. We couldn't keep tempting fate like that.

Still, a few more seconds couldn't hurt. I kissed her, taking as much time as I could bear to have her naked body pressed against me. I wished we had all the time in the world, so I could tell her how I'd been falling for her since we'd first met, against all odds, and how I'd fallen pretty damn hard now. I didn't know if I'd call it _love_, but I knew it was heading that way. It was getting more and more difficult to leave her, even to go a few minutes without thinking of her.

On the battlefield it was different, then she had a helmet and used her 'Commander' voice. There was a context I was used to – professionalism, getting things _done_. I was surprisingly good at compartmentalising.

It was when I saw her on the ship or she popped into my head when I was alone that it became near impossible to concentrate. All I wanted to do was go back to her apartment and spend maybe a few more weeks getting to know what _this_ was, and to make it real. We were close, but we were still circling each other, both of us treating this thing we had as though it were some priceless, delicate object that would shatter with one false move. I didn't want to scare her by mentioning how I couldn't remember my life before her and couldn't imagine it _without_ her. She had her fair share of issues surrounding trust, emotional attachment and intimacy, and they weren't always easy to deal with, but that made the times when she looked at me with nothing but happiness and affection in her eyes so much more meaningful.

When I was with her, there was nothing else in the world that I wanted. Her body, her laugh, her taste, her _smell_ – they felt like home. I could listen to her talk about nothing for hours. I was content.

I tore myself away from her but she darted forward to plant a quick, final kiss on my lips in a gesture I'd have thought totally uncharacteristic a few weeks ago. It sent my heart racing all over again. And then, as she flattened herself against the wall, biting her bottom lip through a bare-toothed grin, the door slid open and I left.

oOoOoOo

If I'd known that would be the last time…I would have turned around, held her tight and I would have _never_ let her go. I'd have disregarded every rule we established, every order she gave. When she told me to get to the shuttles I'd have put her in a stasis field, dragged her with me kicking and screaming and dealt with the consequences later. If I'd known, I would have taken the time to tell her how I'd been falling in love with her since the first time she smiled at me, and how I couldn't let her go, not _ever_.

But I didn't know. And then…then it was just too late.

* * *

**Chapter 12: Silence** – A memorial service is held for the late Commander Shepard. Kaidan tries to pull himself back together, but it is a long time before he finds the strength to say goodbye for good.

Hope you all enjoyed the SUDDEN ANGST BOMB! Why not review and tell me all about it? ;)


	12. Silence

**Chapter 12: Silence**

_Kaidan_

I heard it again, the same dull woman saying the same news blurb in the same chirpy fucking voice.

"Decorated Alliance Commander and Council Spectre Jena Shepard was killed in action earlier this week following an unprovoked attack on the SSV Normandy in the Terminus Systems. So far no group has come forward to take responsibility for the attack, and an investigation is being launched. Commander Shepard was renown for being the youngest person to ever receive the Star of Terra following her courageous actions during the Skyllian Blitz on Elysium. She was also the first woman to reach the coveted rank of N7 in Alliance Special Forces, and the first human accepted into the Spectres. Recently, she was named a hero after foiling a brutal attack on the Citadel and saving the lives of the Galactic Council. A memorial service will be held later today at the Alliance Headquarters on Earth. In other news…"

There was no other news. The world was moving on and I didn't understand how that was possible. It seemed so _thoughtless_ to me. But then, the Citadel had repaired and moved on within a matter of weeks when the seat of government for the entire galaxy was nearly wiped out and thousands of people lost their lives. Why should they care about a few dead soldiers, even if one of them was the greatest hero the Alliance had?

Even putting it that way did nothing to calm the sharp, throbbing ache in my belly. It hurt. It hurt so much and I didn't know when it would stop hurting. I just wanted her to be alive. She was _always_ so full of life. I'd thought of her as indestructible, but it had taken a split second for her to be blown out into space. It had been so easy for her to die. It would have been _so easy_ for her to survive.

I should never have let her go. I should have dragged her to the shuttles with me. I should have gone to get Joker myself, shown some initiative.

I'd done none of those things, and now she was dead.

It had been six days. It felt like a raw, gaping wound. They'd only just released the information to the media after they caught wind of the memorial service, and every time I heard her name the wound was torn open fresh.

_Memorial service_. Like the memory of her didn't burn as brightly in my own head and heart as if she were right in front of me, as if I couldn't close my eyes, breathe in and still _smell_ her…

I loved her.

It didn't matter if it was true, I thought. It would have been true eventually, the way things had been going. I'd been falling in love with her since the moment we met, and now I would never get the chance to _make_ it come true, to say the words, to hold her face in my hands, tell her I was in love with her, watch her face fill up with confusion and fear and hesitation and then kiss her until it all melted away.

I'd never get to do that. We'd never be able to pick up where we left off like we said we would. I'd never get to hold her again, feel her tense up and shudder around me, kiss the sweat from her brow and watch the dreamy smile spread over her face as she sunk into my arms, the bed, sighing with satisfaction. I'd never get to see some new, beautiful side of her unfold before my eyes, to coax her further out of her shell.

The others wouldn't understand. They were shell-shocked now, they thought I was just going through the same things as them, but they'd move on. I couldn't. I _knew_ I couldn't. That would mean there'd be a time when I didn't feel a stab in my chest at any mention of her name, every time she drifted through my mind, and I didn't know _how_ that could ever be possible.

My thoughts had a childlike simplicity to them. She'd been here one day and gone the next, but _why_? How was that fair? Why couldn't I have her back, just for a week, a day, an _hour_? The lack was like a hunger I knew I could never satisfy. A dull ache that sharpened painfully when her face swam into focus before my eyes

This carpet was ugly as hell, I thought. I hadn't noticed even though I'd been staring at it for…I didn't know how long. I lifted my head from my hands and took a deep, cleansing breath. The bed I sat on reminded me of the one I'd had at the embassy on the Citadel – the same tedious blue bedspread, smelling of 'clean' and little else. That one night I'd spent away from her, I could hardly sleep. When I did I woke up grasping at the sheets, expecting to find her there, missing that scent of hers. When I'd gone back to her apartment, kissed her again, breathed her in, it was like the first gasp of fresh, planetside air after months on stale space stations and Alliance cruisers.

She was still in my dreams, but now they weren't filled with sensuality and that open, alluring laugh of hers I only heard when we were alone. Now I dreamed of her in her final moments, burnt up by the gun of that mystery ship, clutching at her helmet as the air coursed out, freezing to death in the blackness of space – the scenario didn't matter, they all ended with her dying, and I'd wake up in a cold sweat to find that the dream was _real_. She was dead.

It seemed impossible, but everything told me it was true, it was a nightmare and this time I wasn't waking up. Commander Shepard was dead. The sentence sounded wrong in my head, like even the words themselves couldn't figure out how to fit together in that way.

I didn't know when I'd get over it and I didn't know if I ever wanted to. How could I move on from someone like her?

The moment I _knew_…that was like a stone dropping through my belly and burning up my insides, rippling out to every cell of my body until I couldn't even speak. I'd been the first to know, out of everyone. I'd been the one to fight through the snow and the wind on that hellish planet, get to the escape pod – the last pod to land, the one that wasn't responding to radio contact however loud I shouted – and look through the tiny window.

I'd seen Joker slumped on the floor, one leg bent unnaturally, one arm clinging to a harness he hadn't quite managed to strap himself into. But she hadn't been there. I'd scanned it with my omnitool three times before I understood the reading – he was the only living thing in the pod. All other pods were accounted for. There was no other way off the Normandy. What was left of the wreckage had been blown into pieces. That was when it had hit me, square in the chest, and even with the oxygen mask, I couldn't breathe.

As soon as the rescue team came I'd yelled at their supervisor to get back up in the sky, to comb the atmosphere for any trace of her clinging onto the rubble, preserving her life support systems until help arrived. If there was any way to survive, I knew she'd find it. She always found a way. She was indestructible.

They'd already looked, he'd said. No traces of life in the atmosphere, or anywhere on the planet but where I stood with the blizzard raging around us. I watched every one of the survivors leaving their shuttles and she wasn't with them. I kept expecting her to come limping around some bit of rubble, to splutter something over my commlink, _anything_. But she never came, and that was when part of me shut down. When I knew that the only reason she couldn't find a way back or fight her way to safety was because she was already dead.

I didn't remember getting back to a ship, back to Earth. I could hardly remember the days until now. It was all a long, nightmarish blur with stolen minutes of turbulent sleep and idiotic platitudes from others who _didn't understand_. It was like the worst migraine I'd ever had, where you measured your life by every breath, using all your strength to just keep existing from one moment to the next in the hopes that eventually it wouldn't hurt so much to just _be alive_.

There was a knock at the door, quick and sharp, and it snapped me out of my half-dead trance. I dragged a hand across my face, glanced in the mirror to check I looked something close to normal, and opened.

It was Garrus, looking sombre even for a turian in dress uniform, and I knew he'd been sent to make sure I'd show up in one piece. The others had started to notice that it was hitting me hard. I didn't care if they noticed. I didn't need to keep it a secret any more. You couldn't censure a dead woman.

He asked me if I was ready, and I looked down at the suit I wore. It was new – she'd said once how she'd like to see me in a suit, figured I'd fill it out pretty well. Did wearing one to her funeral count?

I told him yes and with no more words between us we made our way to the room at Alliance HQ where a picture of her was up on the screen – that photo in her file from just before she came aboard the Normandy. Occasionally the photo would change into another – some were snaps from the mission, candid and from time to time carefree, others were of her receiving medals, promotions, any excuse to get her in Alliance blues. The empty coffin at the front was covered with the Alliance flag. It was a hero's funeral, there was no doubt about _that_.

There were few people in the room – the surviving crew of the Normandy, of course, and a handful of other officials, but Shepard didn't have many close friends, she didn't put down roots, and this service wasn't open to the public anyway. Joker was there, in the corner in a wheelchair with his legs and one arm in a cast. I still couldn't look at him. Thanks to Joker the last words she'd said to me were '_get the hell out of here_'.

I knew it was wrong of me, but I didn't care – as I saw him the thought flashed up, again, that this should be _his_ funeral, not hers. She died so he could live. It was an ugly thing to think, I knew. Eventually I was sure I'd feel horrified at myself, but that would mean I could feel something _more_ than the deep, aching loss that filled me to the brim, and that, at least, would be progress.

Anderson's eulogy was good, I thought. Professional but warm. He said that he had always known she was meant for great things, and she had proved him right, even though her life was cut short. He finished by saying he knew he wasn't the only one in the room that would miss her as a dear friend as well as a comrade in arms.

Listening to him and the others, I felt petty, like none of them knew her as _I_ did, none of them had ever seen that carefree, playful side of her that could only come out in private. I should have said something, but my mouth had been dry and my throat clamped shut every time a new picture of her flashed on the screen. I couldn't talk about her, and I couldn't talk _to_ anyone about her. If I did I knew I'd start pouring it out and wouldn't stop until I'd find myself explaining how unbelievably beautiful I found the curve of her cheeks when she smiled, the way the flesh at her hips dipped in below the bones and filled out at her thighs, the sound of her voice first thing in the morning. Those weren't things you said about your dead Commander. And so I didn't say anything at all.

I was in her honour guard. We bore the empty coffin, draped with the Alliance flag, on our shoulders to the cemetery nearby, just outside Alliance HQ. There, we would pretend we were burying an actual person while her name was etched onto the monument for those heroes awarded the Star of Terra. That afternoon, the rain didn't come like the forecast promised. It was fitting, I thought. She'd always hated the rain, as a city girl she said she could never see the point of it, and now, at least, the sun of her home planet was shining down on her. Or what we were all supposed to _pretend_ was her.

I had to explain that one to Garrus. Holding a service even when there was no body to bury was one thing, but laying an empty coffin to rest seemed ridiculous. It was because humans were sentimental, I told him. We couldn't say goodbye unless we saw something being lowered into the ground and buried forever. I'd thought that was true until I watched the casket disappear under layers of earth and felt nothing change inside me. Even when the folded flag was presented to Anderson who took it as solemnly as if he was burying his own child, I felt the same. I heard the gun salute as though it were hundreds of miles away. All I could do was stare at her name etched on the monument, wondering when I'd be able to accept that what I saw in front of me was actually happening and not just some distant nightmare.

When the ceremony was over and the guests filed back inside for the wake, I hung back for a moment and gazed at the patch of earth where we were all supposed to believe she was buried. Within minutes, though, dark clouds swirled above and with a crack of thunder the rain came at last, drops running over and around the letters of her name carved into the marble. I looked up into the sky, rain pelting against my face, and thought that maybe this was her idea of a joke.

Later, as I stared at the bottom of my fourth whiskey, Garrus sat next to me and asked what I was planning to do next. When I said I didn't know he said nor did he. We had been a team held together by _her_. Without her we were just a bunch of people searching for some kind of direction. He told me that working with Shepard had changed him, that he didn't know how he'd go back to C-Sec. I didn't tell him that I didn't know how I'd _ever_ go back to the Alliance, with her name on the lips of people who would call her a hero, a legend, when all I'd ever wanted was to call her _mine_.

Anderson came over, silently clapping a hand on my shoulder in empathy as he sat at the bar. Jena had told me once that he was her oldest friend. They met when she was a twenty-one year old firebrand, determined to kick and scratch and shoot her way to the top and take shit from no one, not even her new, decorated Commander. In a heated argument between the two of them she'd reached for his gun to prove a point, maybe scare him into backing down like the others, and he'd put her on the ground in seconds, arm twisted behind her back. He'd been the first graduate of the N7 programme. He knew raw, blazing potential when it was staring him in the face, and Jena had a hell of a stare. That was the only reason she wasn't court martialed. Within a year he'd won her respect, trust and devotion, and he'd moulded her into the greatest soldier the Alliance had, his protégé. He would understand how much this hurt, at least more than most.

I asked him how he was holding up, and he said in a grim voice that he'd had better weeks. He looked as though he'd aged five years since I'd last seen him. After a while he revealed that my placement on the Normandy hadn't been a coincidence. He'd put me there on the understanding that I'd work alongside Jena while she gained her Spectre status, in the hopes that the more 'stable' and 'grounded' elements of my personality would round out her hard, rough edges. He said that at the time she'd _needed_ that, and by his estimation it had worked towards the end, though whether that was down to me or the nature of the mission itself was difficult to say. In a neutral voice I asked him why he was telling me that, my grief-drunk mind assuming it was just another blow, another reminder that we'd been good together and that it was _gone_. He explained that it was because he wanted me to know I'd changed her for the better, just as she had no doubt changed me. Even though she was gone, _that_ was something to hold on to. It only made me feel worse.

I talked to all of them, eventually. Even Joker, who, a dark part of me was glad to see, looked like he'd stared into the mouth of hell itself. I didn't tell him what I was thinking – if it weren't for _you_ I could be with her right now, mourning the loss of the others who died that day. She'd cared for every one of them, even if she'd never admit it. Caring had cost her her life.

I knew we were supposed to react like we did with Ashley – mourn her, miss her, move on and grow closer as a result – but I couldn't do that. Nor could anyone else. Looking around I saw a sea full of people who had just had their entire world turned on its head. Even Anderson was looking at her picture on the wall as though he couldn't understand why it was there, as though this were some trick being played on all of us. We all loved her, in our own ways. Shepard was the axis around which the Normandy and her crew turned. Without the Normandy and without her, we were nothing. _I_ was nothing.

I left early, and when I heard a knock on my door the next day I ignored it. I lay in the dark, listening to rain battering against the window, and wondered if it would ever stop hurting.

oOoOoOo

I stopped being high on my own grief, after a while. It amazed me how my mind coped with the loss – filled me with manic heartache for a few months when all I could do was pity myself and miss her, and then when the worst of it had passed, the clouds receded and there was nothing at all but cold, dead silence. It was like when anaesthetic wore off and let you actually _feel_ the pain your body couldn't handle before. One morning I woke up and found I could look at myself and the whole situation objectively, judge my own thoughts and think about her without the hazy spiral of grief dragging me down.

And when I considered the whole thing, I wondered – would I still have kissed her and jumped off that cliff, knowing how it would end?

In the months after her death when I'd been indulging in my own sadness like some widow staring out to sea, the answer would have been yes, of course, she was worth _anything_. After a while, I wasn't so sure. I'd idealised it once, but soon I couldn't think of the time we'd spent together without linking it to the months of grief that followed. Eventually I'd picked myself up, dusted off, and said that I would stop obsessing, I would _move on._

I'd been doing well, I thought. After the funeral I'd stayed in Vancouver for a while at the Alliance Headquarters. I was on leave and I'd volunteered to teach some promising young biotics for a while as I pulled myself back together. I figured it was what she'd want me to do. At any rate it was better than moping around a hotel room wondering when the gnawing pain in my stomach would ever go away. It hadn't been enough, though, and I'd gone back on active duty after only a few months, missing the opportunity to lose myself in combat. It wasn't easy at first, getting used to working without her. No one was as good as her, as fast or as in tune with a squad. No one worked with my biotics as well as she did. It had been frustrating as hell – like learning it all from scratch again. But then I'd been promoted to Lieutenant Commander and things had started to look up. She would want me to make the most of what I had, I thought. Push myself, just like she had all her life.

But then those fucking recruitment vids started to appear with her face on them. And the VIs. I'd almost had a heart attack the first time I saw one of those. It was like the universe was taunting me, asking in a sneering voice why I hadn't gotten over her yet, and then making _absolutely_ sure that I couldn't.

For a while I'd been doing well. And then the anniversary of the crash had rolled around.

I'd meant to go to the Alliance HQ, visit the Star of Terra Monument and pay my respects, but that hadn't been possible and instead I'd found myself on a sparse space station in between assignments. To mark the day I bought a bottle of rum, the kind she liked – dark and spiced and warm, just like her. I'd had one drink, and then my head had snapped up as I heard her name mentioned on the ANN, Emily Wong was doing a profile on her – flattering, basically a list of all the incredible things Jena Shepard had done for the Alliance, a tribute from a reporter who had respected and admired her. Her picture flashed up, smirking, knowing, confident. And it took everything I had not to break down again.

I saw an Alliance shrink once, when I got my head above water long enough to realise I wasn't coping well. She'd told me everything I was feeling was '_very normal_'. She told me it was to be expected that I'd see Jena's face on random people in the street, that things of hers or mentions of her name would trigger memories so bright they could have happened yesterday. She said I should keep the good memories I had of her, the holos and pictures, but to lock them up so I couldn't accidentally stumble across them. It was normal that I'd feel a stab of pain every time I came across something that reminded me of her.

It didn't help knowing what I felt was _normal_. All it made me think was, if people were _supposed_ to feel like this, how did anyone move on? Was the galaxy just full of people like me, getting on with their lives and putting on a brave face like nothing was wrong when they felt dead inside?

What was it they said? The time it took you to get over a relationship was half the length of the relationship itself. We'd been together – if you could even call it that – for a month. A year later when I remembered the crash I could still picture and feel with absolute clarity the twisting pain in my gut when I'd realised she was gone. It was ridiculous. I'd known her for less than half the time I'd been mourning her. I kept thinking that eventually it would have to get better. But it never did – all that happened was that mad grief gave way to numbness, scattered with vivid nightmares that tore the wound open just as raw as before, reminding me that nothing had really healed.

A year and a month later and I'd gone to the Citadel – those VIs were mostly gone, at last – to visit the biotic doctor for a check-up. I'd been using my biotics more, pushing them to the limit, and I was amazed at what I could do. Jena had helped me to break through the mental blocks I'd placed around using too much force and I found that once I'd stopped being scared there were few limits to what I could accomplish, provided my amp was up to the challenge. That was why I was in the hospital – even though I hated hospitals – with the young doctor scanning the back of my neck and making interested noises.

As she installed an upgrade she said I had nothing to worry about – that I was still in remarkably good shape for an L2 and that my amp was keeping up with my increased usage very well, though I still had to up my calorie intake. She was much as I remembered from the times before, first with Shepard and later when I came back on active duty and went for tri-monthly check-ups. She was kind, talkative, warm. She put me at ease, which wasn't easy when you knew someone was opening up the back of your neck and prodding the nerves at the base of your skull.

There were exercises at the end of each appointment, small things like levitating a few objects, moving them precisely just to make sure everything was working as it should. As she talked me through them this time, she punctuated the end of each exercise with a remark on how good I'd become, and her voice was scattered with nervous laughter. It wasn't until she said offhandedly that she'd glanced at my record and had been surprised I wasn't married that I realised she was flirting with me. A blush coloured her wide, round cheeks, and set off the colour of her short, honey-coloured hair and kind blue eyes.

I hadn't known how to react. It had been over a year, a pretty woman was flirting with me, and I had no reason to push her away. If it had been before the mission on the Normandy, I'd have asked her out to dinner without hesitation. She used to be _just_ my type. Instead, I pretended not to notice, and I left.

The next day, though, I'd been convinced by some of my squadmates to come for a drink at a bar near the embassy. I think they'd got sick of what seemed like my total aversion to anything fun, that dark storm cloud that still hung over my head. It had been okay, strangely enough. I was starting to enjoy myself, loosen up a little. I was starting to talk like my old self, like the light-hearted, optimistic man I used to be. And then I saw the doctor in the bar, laughing with a friend, and we'd made eye contact.

When I went up to the bar, she'd come over at what looked like the urging of her friend. After a few minutes I'd forced myself into the familiar script of adult relationships and bought her a drink. Her name was Emily, she was thirty-one, lived in the Presidium and had been an Alliance doctor since she graduated three years early from a university on Earth. Apparently she was some kind of medical prodigy. She'd specialised in biotics – particularly L2s – because her older brother had died of a brain tumour caused by a faulty implant. She was easy to talk to, I thought, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was acting a part, playing at being a regular person, saying all the right things but not because I meant them. I wondered if that was how Shepard had felt at first. Once you'd been through certain things, it was hard to play pretend with someone else that _hadn't_.

Still, Emily was charming. And then, before I went back to my squadmates, she'd asked me on a date. I had no reason to say no, I thought, and if I really _was_ trying to move on, this was the only way it would happen. I said yes. How could it hurt? She wasn't Jena, no one could _ever_ be Jena, but that didn't mean I had to drag her memory around like a ball and chain, never escaping or trying to get on with my life.

At the date itself, Emily was what I was sure my mom would describe as 'delightful'. She was bubbly, cheerful, a little shy but with a wide, open smile and she laughed often. It was fun, I thought. I even found myself smiling back at her, laughing along with her. To anyone watching we would have looked like two regular people at a dinner together. But then I dropped her back at her apartment, a large, beautiful building in the Presidium, the polar opposite of Shepard's old place, and she looked up at me coyly as we stood by the doorway, biting her lip as if asking for a kiss.

So I kissed her. And it was about as exciting as brushing my teeth. The first time I'd kissed Jena, it felt like the electricity and magnetism in the space between us would force our lips together even if we tried to resist. I felt a jolt shoot up my spine every time Jena touched me, and when I finally had her in my arms her hands were like branding irons trailing over my skin, burning her name wherever they went. When I kissed Emily it felt…like nothing. There was skin-to-skin contact, but with all the eroticism of dressing a wound or doing up the fastenings on a squadmate's hardsuit. There was nothing wrong with _her_ – she looked at me afterwards with a flush covering her cheeks and a dreamy smile on her face. The fault was all mine. I told her goodnight and left without arranging anything else. The next day, I volunteered to ship out on a mission that would take me back to Earth, and when she called I told her something had come up unexpectedly and that I was sorry.

That last part was true. I _was_ sorry. It was wrong of me to use her as an experiment that part of me knew would fail, because that same part of me _also_ knew I still wasn't over losing Jena.

What the hell was wrong with me? It had been over a year. We'd been together for a month. Yes, it had been the most incredible, unforgettable month of my life, but I should have been over it by now. I thought Emily would help. I thought I'd kiss her, feel something stirring inside and realise that I could fall for someone else just as hard and fast as I'd fallen for Jena Shepard.

But how could I? She'd carved a space in my chest without either of us realising until it was too late. The space had her smirk, voice, smell, _shape_, and she was the only one that would fit. How could I just _get over_ her? Why would I even _want_ to force someone else into that gap when it was only meant for her?

Four days later, I was on Earth at the Alliance HQ for a brief stopover before I was shipped out to some far-off colony. The rain was falling fast and heavy when I dragged my feet across the green to the Star of Terra Monument, where her name was etched right in the centre of the marble slab, the last great Alliance hero to be killed in action.

Everything about it, the whole scene in front of me, was just as I remembered from just over a year ago, when I stood in that very spot on the day of her funeral. The world had changed so much, but I was still here, stuck in this hole, wishing she was alive, and she was still dead.

I traced my fingers over the letters, feeling the rain running over my face, and wished more than anything that I could have her back, even if just for a moment, so I could tell her all the things I never got the chance to say before. These were the thoughts of a sad, defiant child, not a grown man. But they were the only thoughts I could summon up as I stared at her name, her death set in stone.

That night I shut myself in my room, and I drank all that was left of the rum I'd bought to mark the anniversary of her death. I was indulging in my grief again, letting the pain come rushing back like an addict looking for one last final thrill before I gave it up for good. I told myself I was getting better, that this was just a bad week and I'd start fresh when I shipped out.

The night started to blur together. I didn't remember how I'd managed to stumble over to the cabinet to pour myself another drink – hadn't the bottle been finished? – and when I looked up I saw myself in the mirror above, bleary-eyed, hair in a mess, looking just as awful as I felt.

I knew I was _drunk_, even with my biotic metabolism. I knew when I saw _her_ there in the mirror, standing behind me and glaring at my reflection, that it was just my over-active, rum-fuelled imagination. I closed my eyes, decided I didn't care, and when I opened them again I saw her there like she'd never left – one of my shirts hanging tantalisingly off her shoulder, legs bare, the same regulation black underwear she always had on under her uniform hugging her hips just above the dip and swell of her thigh muscles.

If I turned around I knew she wouldn't be there. She was a hallucination swimming in and out of focus, nothing more. But she was the most beautiful one I'd ever seen. Even though she was scowling at me.

"What the _fuck_ d'you think you're doing, Alenko?" She snapped in a voice laced with steel that I'd got used to only hearing in VI composites or in my dreams.

"I'm getting drunk," I replied with a slur, aware that I was talking to myself but, since I was alone, I didn't care. "I'm getting drunk because I miss you like hell, Jena. And it still hurts _every_ _time_ I remember you're not here."

"And you think that's gonna help?" She asked, fists moving to rest on her hips as she tilted her head to the side like she was scolding me. "Do you really think drinking my favourite rum will help you move on? If anything it's just _rude_, seeing as I'm not here to drink it with you."

"Why _aren't_ you here?" I demanded, like a child wanting a different answer to a question I already knew was settled. Like a teenager asking why life had to be so _unfair_.

"Because I'm dead, idiot." She folded her arms, and I saw her face soften, just like it would when we were alone together, "You know that. You've known that for over a year but you keep acting like if you only mourn me enough you can magic me back to life. But I'll still be dead. And you'll just be miserable. Case in point," she waved her arm at the general direction of the mirror I was still staring into. Her voice was coming to me as though through ten feet of water. When I focused on her too much she started to blur at the edges. I downed another drink, the bottle suddenly half-full again. I wasn't ready for this illusion to end. Not just yet.

She walked closer until she was only a few feet behind me. I could have sworn that when I breathed in I caught the taste of spiced vanilla on my tongue.

"I can't stop thinking of you, though," I protested, "How can I, when we left everything unfinished?"

"Like that was my choice," she snarled, "I got blown into outer-fucking-space! I'm _dead_, and you're still alive but you're acting like you wished we'd traded places. You need to stop dragging my ghost around with you. It's _stupid_." The part of me that still knew this was a hallucination thought that my own subconscious was pretty brutal. Maybe it was as sick of all this as I was.

I sighed, "I just…all I can think about is what could have been." That was the whole problem. I'd only _just_ got used to being with her and to nurturing that side of myself when it was all torn away. "I was falling in love with you, you know. I didn't know what we were or what kind of future we could have but I didn't care because I was so happy just to be with you. Do you know how hard that was? For me to ignore the rules, the regs, not even think about the consequences? It was worth it for you. I'd have followed you anywhere."

"I know that," she said quietly, her voice muffled, as though she was far away, "Even if I never said it, I knew it. But I also know that there's no point in thinking about what could have been. You've wasted a year of your life that way. And yeah, maybe we could have been something, and it could have been amazing, but we won't now. Not ever. And you know that."

I nodded, slowly, painfully. And then I looked straight at her reflection, into those beautiful amber eyes, and I let the words spill out of me, "There was no closure, Jena. If you'd just _left_ I could have handled that, I guess. I could have accepted that you wanted to move on, or that whatever we had wasn't right. But you died, mid-conversation, and we had _so much_ left unfinished."

She took another step and looked down to her hands, one toying with the other. My vision swam, and she flickered like the picture on a bad vidlink. _Not yet_, I thought, _just let me pretend for a little while longer._

"At least this way," she started uncertainly, "you didn't have to deal with me not loving you, or getting bored, or _leaving_, or taking up with someone else, or any of the other ways I could have hurt you. You'll never have to deal with the grim reality of loving someone as damaged as I was. This way, for better or worse, you'll always remember me like this," she spread her arms to gesture to herself, and my chest felt tight as the memory of how warm and solid she'd felt in my arms came crashing back, "And I'll have died knowing that someone like you really, truly cared about me. There's a lot to be said for that. I ended my life on one _hell_ of a high."

I smiled at that, at the idea of her my own drunken mind had come up with. '_Don't ever feel sorry for me,_' she'd said once, cutting through all the platitudes I had queued up. She made a good point. I wondered if my subconscious had come up with any other profound answers.

"When will it stop hurting?" I asked, already knowing the answer she'd give – it was the one I _needed_, from her lips and no one else's.

"When you let it," she replied matter-of-factly, tilting her head to one side, "No sooner. When you get it into your head that I'm not coming back. When you let me go."

"And how do I do that?"

"Hell if I know," she shrugged, "I don't have to think about that shit any more – I'm dead, remember? I'm at peace. But you're not. And I want you to be. I want you to move on, to do my memory proud instead of dragging it around with you like an anchor."

"I want that too. I just…I wish I'd been able to say goodbye. I wish I'd been able to kiss you, one last time."

"One last time, huh?" There was a playful glint in her eyes, and I remembered the last night we'd had together at her apartment, the way she'd laughed, almost _giggled_, as I held her hips in my hands and kissed my way down the curve of her belly.

What we'd had was spectacular. She was a flame that burned so bright I could hardly believe she could exist at all, but for a short time she'd been mine, I'd been hers, and it was perfect. But it was over now. I had to let it go.

I saw her step towards the mirror, until she was so close I could have reached my arm back an inch and touched her if she'd been real.

I closed my eyes and turned around, felt the ghost of her hands running up my chest and the memory of the softness of her lips came crashing back as I held, with picture perfect clarity, that last moment we were _truly_ together in my mind. I could almost smell her.

With a sudden jolt I opened my eyes and found myself hitting the floor by the bed, sheets half-off and clutched in one hand from where I'd fallen in my sleep, the rain still pounding down violently outside where there had been nothing but silence before. Confused and still _very_ drunk, I groped at the table to one side and pushed myself into a sitting position, my head spinning. I couldn't smell her at all, I realised, because she was gone. Even the _hallucination_ of her had been a dream and nothing more.

That was when it finally hit me, after a year, that she was gone, and that she was _never_ coming back, however much I wished and dreamed and hoped. With grim determination I stumbled over to the window and forced it open. I hung my head outside, let the freezing water run over my hair and down my cheeks, shocking me back into life. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath of the fresh, icy air, and then, just like that, I _let her go_.

When I woke up the next morning, it was like the first breath after a coma.

**Chapter 13: Resurrection** – Shepard finds herself confused and disoriented in a den of wolves, and realises she's lost so much more than time.


	13. Resurrection

**Chapter 13: Resurrection**

I swam up from the depths of a black, murky sleep, breaking through the surface and gasping for air as a siren blared flatly in the background.

The first thing I felt was a hard slab of metal beneath me, a thin cloth over me, and I realised with a sudden rush of adrenaline that I was stark naked and had _no_ idea where I was.

_Everything_ hurt. When I opened my eyes and was half-blinded by lights, _that_ hurt too. It felt like I'd been used as a punching bag. I grabbed madly at the side of the bed with shaking hands and eased myself up – pain lancing through my arm – to glance around the room. I heard a muffled voice from somewhere, but as my vision blurred into focus all I saw was a lab, a recovery room or something, with no one in it but me.

My heart was hammering in my chest, and I forced deep, cool breaths into my tight lungs. And then my empty stomach contracted violently and I lost all composure as I heaved forward to retch onto the sheet in my lap. It felt like I hadn't eaten in _days_. I must have been hurt somehow, knocked out cold. I looked down at my bare torso and, in a strange, detached way, I took in the patches of neat scars all over my body. Not _just_ the world's worst hangover, then. There was a deafening ringing in my ears that I hadn't noticed until now, and keeping my raw, irritated eyes open was like staring directly at the sun. I couldn't think. I'd been awake for a few seconds and my mind was already reeling. What had _happened_?

Kaidan would know, I thought. He was never far when I woke up in the medbay. This wasn't the Normandy, but he had to be _somewhere_ around here. He wouldn't leave me like this.

I flinched and slapped at my shoulder when I felt something tickle my skin, and I grabbed a handful of hair. _My_ hair, thick and shiny and black. It was longer than it had been since I was a child. A cold sweat lanced over my body.

What the _fuck_.

My hand stung and I realised there was still an IV drip attached, tugging at the skin. I slid it out with shaking, unresponsive fingers and watched, dazed and mesmerised, as blood welled up from the cut. My hands didn't even feel like _mine._At last the ringing in my ears began to die down, and I heard my name being called, _shouted_ really, over the cacophony of the alarm. I glanced up at the camera in the corner and focused on the speaker next to it. I didn't even care that I was naked. The voice sounded like a woman's anyway. I wished she'd shut up.

"Shepard. _Shepard!_ You have to get up now, this facility is under attack." I groped at the side of the table, wondering if my legs would support me. They felt as dead and heavy as slabs of meat. "Your scars aren't fully healed yet but you _have_ to get up _now_ – there are mechs closing in on your position."

Mechs, huh? I eased my legs out of the cloth and tried to stand but they buckled from underneath me at once. I got to my feet again like a newborn foal learning to walk. I felt so _stiff_.

"Where—" I started, and then stopped as my voice cracked and my throat burnt. I found a sink and pulled myself over to it, turning on the water and gulping some down straight from the tap. "Where," I gasped, water running down my nose and chin, "am I?"

I glanced up and came face to face with someone totally unfamiliar. With a start, I realised the smooth glass was a _mirror_, and I held onto the sink for support as I tried to understand the picture before me. I saw the cracks of fresh scars across my face, in place of the ones I already knew so well. I brought my fingers up to prod at the unfamiliar landscape of skin, at my thick, unkempt eyebrows, and saw that my nails were impractically long. Dark hair fell down to my shoulders, and lights blinked behind my bloodshot eyes.

_What am I?_

"You're in a medical facility, but there's no time to explain!" The voice crackling over the intercom snapped me back to reality and I tore my eyes away from the mirror, "There's some clothes in the locker to your left, get dressed _quickly_ and get out of there!"

Well, anything was better than trying to fight mechs naked. I stumbled over to the locker and found a plain white vest, underwear and what looked like sweatpants. That was only _slightly_ better, but I supposed it was too much to ask to have a hardsuit ready and waiting. I pulled them on stiffly, my stupid long fingernails grating my strangely sensitive skin. I must have been out for at least a few days. But from what?

And why the fuck was my hair so _long_?

"I need a gun," I croaked distractedly as I made my way to the door, marionette arms pawing at the counter to keep me upright.

"There's a pistol on your right, just out of the door, _hurry_, they're almost there!"

I found the pistol but barely had time to load it before the woman over the loudspeaker yelled something about mechs and the doors opposite burst open. I tumbled into cover, my head swimming, and felt the heat of their shots zoom over my head. I leaned my head back against the crates and closed my eyes to take a breath. I was weighed down by lingering anaesthetic, like staying in a bath while the water drained out and you found yourself so much _heavier _than before. If there was anything left in my stomach, I'd have vomited it all back up. For a moment I doubted whether I could actually take the mechs out – I felt weak as a kitten and my hands were shaking from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

Then, I grit my teeth and remembered who I was. I curled my fingers around the pistol, felt its weight, its balance, and something innate and primal took over. I sucked in a deep breath, reached around the crates and fired. The little 'pop' as their heads were knocked off their shoulders was satisfying. Muscle memory was a powerful thing, and with that power back I felt more in control. Whatever the hell this was, I could do _anything_ as long as I had a gun in my hand and shoes on my feet. Speaking of which…

"Is there another locker with some _shoes_ around here?" I demanded as I stepped carefully around the mechs, my nails getting in the way as I reloaded the pistol.

"No, we weren't expecting this, we weren't prepped yet for you waking up. There was a whole procedure planned but we've had to cut the programme short. Someone's hacking security, they're trying to kill you. I'm doing what I can from my end, but there's—" her voice was cut off by static "—dammit, there's someone else trying to stop me. Listen...ou have to ge...shuttle bay! I'll try to fin..." her voice trickled away as whoever was hacking the security systems shut her out.

I swore extravagantly and pounded my fist on the wall. Navigating an unfamiliar facility with no armour and no _shoes_ wasn't my favourite way to wake up. My mind slipped back to Kaidan, to the last time I'd woken up with my face pressed against his chest and everything had been perfect for those few precious minutes. Maybe he wasn't here at all? But then where _was_ he? He wouldn't leave me alone in a place like this. But what _was_ this place?

I froze, ice shooting down my spine as I rounded a corner to see a logo I recognised instantly. It had been dotted around the bunker where I'd found Admiral Kahoku with needle marks in his neck, and it had shown up again when we'd raided that facility and I got pumped full of shrapnel.

_Cerberus_. What the fuck did they have to do with anything? If this was their facility, then were they treating me? _Experimenting_ on me? Was that woman just trying to get me out because I was a goddamn _project_ of theirs? I grit my teeth and raised my weapon. _No one_ used me.

I jogged down a corridor, forcing life back into my dead and weary body with every step. When I neared the end I slowed, suddenly hearing the familiar sounds of a biotic hurling attacks across a room. My first excited thought was that it must be Kaidan, but I heard a voice and realised with a stab of disappointment that it was someone else.

I peered around the corner. He was taking cover from a group of mechs, and I figured that, even if he was hostile, I could at least beat a straight answer out of him. I came out of cover and raised my arm to fire four shots, smirking with satisfaction as four mechs went down instantly. I was _good _at killing mechs. The man turned to me, eyes wide with surprise as I skidded over to the short wall he crouched behind.

"Shepard! You're—"

He froze as I brought my gun to his temple, "You've got thirty seconds to tell me where I am, how I got here and who the fuck _you_ are." I saw the flicker of understanding as he realised I wasn't kidding around, and I thought that at least he was _smart_.

"You're on a medical station," he said calmly, "you were severely injured when your ship was attacked and you were taken here for treatment. My name is Jacob Taylor, my squad was on Eden Prime when the Geth attacked – you saved my life that day."

I kept my gun pointed at him but slowly eased it off his skin as he let out a long, slow breath.

It came back to me at once in bright, violent flashes – the attack on the Normandy, shouting at Kaidan to get everyone _out_ because I couldn't let myself worry about him, the mad dash for the shuttles, throwing Joker into the last one and punching the release as I was blown backwards, freezing in space, air forced out of my lungs, blind panic taking over, my own armoured hands clawing at my suit-

I inhaled sharply, suddenly back in this unfamiliar room with this man I didn't know, eyes locked on my bare feet. There was a scar missing from the left one, a long, jagged cut that had almost severed the tendons and left me limping for weeks. Scars like that didn't just _disappear_. Jacob shifted, and without looking at him I brought my gun up again to keep him still.

"What happened to me?" I asked quietly, still staring at the smooth, unblemished skin on my foot where the scar used to be.

He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, "Look, I'm not one of the scientists, I'm not supposed to be the one telling—"

I cocked my gun, and from the corner of my eye I saw him glance down to where it pointed straight at his neck. There was a Cerberus logo on his armour. The lying little _shit_ thought he could get on my side by bringing up Eden Prime and pretending he was Alliance.

"Don't _make_ me ask you again," I snarled, turning to glare at him, "What happened to me? How badly was I injured?"

And then he told me. I'd died. '_Just meat and tubes'_. They'd spent billions of credits rebuilding me, piecing me back together like a puzzle, developing incredible technological advances just to do the impossible and bring me back to life. The Lazarus Project.

I'd been out for two years.

It was a unit of time I couldn't even wrap my head around. He had to be lying. There was _no way_ I'd been lying on that slab of metal for two years.

My hair reached my shoulders. My entire body was stiff and covered in scars. I had no idea where I was or how I'd got here. I wondered if this was how sleeping beauty felt?

_Two years_.

"Welcome back to your life," he said solemnly as mechs appeared on the other side of the room and fired over our heads.

I swung my arm over the short wall and shot them to pieces, totally indifferent to the fact that I wasn't wearing any kind of protection.

My hands were shaking again, and I felt panic work its way up my throat, even as I kept my face still as stone. This wasn't my life. I didn't know _what_ this was. I'd been enjoying my life for the first time in who knew _how_ long before this happened. Everything had been so close to perfect until—

This had to be a bad dream. But dreams didn't _hurt_ this much.

"We have to get to the shuttles," Jacob said, bringing up a facility map on his omnitool, "Miranda will be—"

I pointed my gun at his head purposefully, amazed and a little offended that he thought he'd be allowed to move yet.

"Get up," I barked. There was a moment where he just looked at me in total confusion. Fucking moron. As if giving me information at gunpoint made us allies. Even if he _had_been in a squad on Eden Prime, he was with _Cerberus_ now. He got to his feet slowly, eyes on the barrel of my gun. "Listen to me very carefully, Jacob," I started, my voice hard and low to cover the fact that I was still trembling inside and wanted to vomit, "the only reason you're still alive is because I need you to get me out of this facility. I could _kill_ you and take the map from your omnitool instead, but I'm wearing white and blood is hard to wash out. Do you know the way?"

He nodded, looking profoundly uncomfortable, "There's a shuttle bay not too far from here. Miran—"

"Take me there. _Now_."

He turned away uncertainly, shooting me a hurt look as though I were being cruel to him for no reason. Well, what the hell did he expect? The last time I'd had contact with Cerberus I was nearly _killed_. I had no reason to trust them now, and if even half of what he was saying had any truth to it, I had a right to be just a _little_ disoriented and paranoid. The idea of being alone and unconscious in a Cerberus facility for any time at all made me feel sick, let alone the _two years_ he claimed. If anything, this little attack on the facility was a blessing. At least now I'd get to walk out of here on my terms, and at least I was _armed_.

My gun never strayed far from his back as we moved through the facility. Truth be told, Jacob Taylor seemed like an honourable sort, but I wasn't about to believe first impressions when it came to a goddamn Cerberus operative. When he had an attack of conscience and told me, gravely, that he worked for them, I told him the next time he wanted to keep something a secret he shouldn't plaster it all over the facility, not to mention his uniform. Did he think I was _stupid_? He asked me if it would be an issue, I told him that he was still alive, and he could take _that_ however he liked.

I still felt sick and hungry and _drowsy _as hell, but at least I had a gun. If I had to, I'd take a shuttle by myself. I was a shitty pilot, but anything was better than this place. Wherever the hell this place _was_. I didn't believe a word either of them said. I wanted more than anything to close my eyes and be back on board the Normandy surrounded by familiar faces, but the last time I'd seen the Normandy I was stumbling through its carcass with its pilot slung over my shoulder as the world erupted into flame around us. And now I was _here_.

People called me unflappable. It was mostly true – I just freaked out on the inside, where no one could see, and now I was screaming in panic and confusion even as I stared coolly ahead and snapped out orders to a Cerberus operative I'd just _met_.

When we reached the shuttle bay and Miranda put a face to a voice, recognition stirred in me and I half-remembered seeing her before, as if in a dream, surrounded by sharpness and pain and bright, blinding lights.

Most of me still thought they were lying and that this was just some elaborate experiment to see how I'd handle things. There was no way I'd been asleep for two years. I didn't know what to think about _any_ of it yet, so I didn't let myself think anything at all. All I knew was that there was one shuttle off the station, and that I could probably take down both the Cerberus agents if I had to, even in my current state. Miranda seemed to read my mind, and pointed out before I'd even said anything that the shuttles were locked with a code that only _she_ knew, and that she also knew the coordinates of the only space station near enough for the shuttle to reach.

There was nothing in her eyes that said she was lying, but then she _was_ a Cerberus agent so no doubt she was well-trained enough to hide it. Still, I reasoned, they'd taken pains to keep me alive, and so had _she_. The worst that would happen is I'd arrive somewhere I didn't want to be, and I'd shoot my way out yet again. _After_ I stole Miranda's shoes and her newer, better gun.

I pushed aside every alarm bell ringing in my head, and, with the pistol still firmly clutched in my hand, I boarded the shuttle.

oOoOoOo

'_I want my fucking dog tags_', I'd said as soon as I was shown my new beautiful set of armour. I was told, simply, that they were lost, like most of my old N7 hardsuit, and that I hardly needed them anyway – _everyone_ knew who I was.

They didn't understand. My dog tags meant more than that to me – they were my identity, my _life_. I had a sort of ritual before missions – most operatives did – and part of it was pulling my dog tags over my neck, the chain running over my face, and looking at the numbers and letters that made up my identity stamped into the cold, hard metal. Sometimes, if I was feeling dramatic and the mission was a particularly important one, I'd kiss them for luck before slipping them beneath my undersuit. It would be my little way of reminding myself why I was there, why it was important, who I _was_, and why this was the only place I could ever want to be.

I'd see my name, 'Shepard, Jena', I'd remember who that was, and I'd feel whole. It was important, I felt when I'd started in the Alliance, to remember what that name meant to myself and others. It was important to remember what it had taken to get me there, and that I had no excuse for not being at my best, _all the time_.

Jena Harper died a long, long time ago, and I'd buried her in my mind, left her in the dust.

Jena Shepard had died too, but now she was back. I didn't need my dog tags to remind me that I was her and she was me and there was no escaping that, not _ever_.

They were lost. So many things had been lost in those two years.

It was like the galaxy's worst case of jet lag, and no matter what I did to ground myself I still couldn't understand how all that time had just passed me by. I felt numb as I scrolled through the last two years worth of galactic news,sitting on my bed in the Normandy. Only it wasn't the SSV Normandy, it was the Normandy SR-2, an enormous ship with Cerberus colours and a Captain's cabin that was so huge it was _vulgar_. The name was the only thing I liked about it. Apart from the fish tank. And the pilot.

Seeing Joker had brought me back down to earth a little, figuratively speaking.

He'd explained things, told me it really _was_ legit. And then he'd told me what he knew about the others, about my crew that hadn't followed him to Cerberus, how they'd scattered around the galaxy forging their own lives in the time I'd been asleep.

I'd already asked Miranda what happened to my crew before, the people I'd shed blood with on the Normandy. She told me they'd moved on, some had left the Alliance, most had disappeared. Why would they stick around? Everyone in the galaxy thought I was dead. I couldn't understand why she hadn't thought to _maybe_ tell the closest people to me that I was alive. She'd said it was because the project was top secret, and I'd wanted to punch her.

They were acting like I had no reason _not_ to trust them. Like the fact that they'd allegedly spent the past two years building me from the bones up meant I had any reason at all to thank them or believe a word they said. Jacob had told me 'not to worry' about the fact that I'd had a gun pointed at his back all the way through the facility, that he understood why I'd been suspicious. I told him scornfully that I _hadn't_ been worried – the very idea that Cerberus had thought I'd trust him or _any_ of their agents on sight only demonstrated the fact that they had _no idea_ who the fuck they were dealing with.

I tried to imagine what the crash would have been like for my old crew, the people that had known me best, and where they might all be now. Two years was a long time.

I'd died because I was too concerned with getting Joker into the shuttle without shattering his legs to make sure I got on safe. It was a split second, a _mistake_ not a conscious decision. I'd died because of that tiny slip up, and now I was alive. Brought back because of who I was. Ashley had died a hero, and she'd stayed that way. How was that fair? Who has the right to _decide_ that kind of thing?

I still didn't believe it. This new body felt alien to me.

Yesterday had started with Kaidan visiting my cabin for a breathless twenty-five minutes before his shift started, rousing me from a half-dream by pressing his lips to the vein that throbbed in my neck, my hands sliding around his shoulders instinctively, tenderly. I'd given him a kiss goodbye because I couldn't help myself, because all I wanted to do was drag him back to bed, but I let him go because I knew he'd be back soon enough. Today, he thought I'd been dead for two years. I _had_ been dead for two years.

I felt something twisting painfully in my chest. I'd been _happy_ there. The Normandy had become my home, and the crew had become the closest thing I had to a family. Now, those that weren't dead had just...moved on. Forgotten all about me. Should I even _try_ to contact them? Would they even care any more?

Cold air covered my skin like a shroud. I felt limp, vacant.

_Of course_ Kaidan would have moved on. What we'd had was nothing serious, even if as I thought those words a queasy feeling bubbled up in my chest, and all I wanted was for him to be here telling me about the bright side to this nightmare. But I was dead and buried in his eyes. Maybe it was a good thing that my death had cut it off before it got too serious. I felt my fingers dig into the soft blanket on my bed, my arms shaking.

Bullshit. I wanted him here so bad it _hurt_. For the time we'd been together, my life had been something close to perfect. It was like some cruel joke. Make me care more than I'd ever cared before and then rip it all away.

I should have known, I should have _fucking known_ that this would happen. It was like the universe was telling me I was getting ideas above my station by letting myself feel something other than cold indifference, so it had thrown _this_ into the mix to remind me of my place in the world. As a weapon, a tool with no wants or cares or _needs_.

My eyes stung, and I rubbed them with my hands as I took a heavy, ragged breath.

I got up, walked over to the huge bathroom as if in a daze, and looked at myself in the mirror beneath the harsh, white lights. And then I stripped off the stupid clothes they'd given me with the _fucking_ Cerberus logo plastered over them, and I looked again at my stark naked body and the story it now told.

My tattoos were still there. Miranda explained that they had touched up most of them after extensive burns erased parts from my skin. She said her orders had been to bring me back _exactly_ as I was before the crash. I was still me, as much as that was possible seeing how I'd been shredded pretty good by the planet's atmosphere, but I had a few extras added. _Cybernetics_.

The lower halves of my left arm and leg were supported by metal instead of bones, and my flesh had been knitted together by stem cells, nano-bots and a list of other things I didn't understand, so the new meat was just like the old. The bones they'd been able to access easily had been modified too. Advanced medi-gel delivery systems, hardening them against breaks and shatters, things like that. I flexed my left hand. It still _felt_ like mine.

My body was roughly the same shape as I remembered – physiotherapy, targeted electric impulses and cutting edge technology had been employed to make sure I was fighting fit from the moment I woke up. Just as I remembered. But the tapestry of marks over my skin was different, scars with stories had been erased, and new ones were threaded through my body instead. A few moles were missing too, the kinds of things you didn't notice until they were gone. At least the scars on the right of my face were still there, the one slicing through my lip and the gashes in my eyebrows that Kaidan had said looked like wings…

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again when my stomach had stopped tying itself in knots.

My left eye hadn't been salvageable. That was artificial too, though it was so advanced it might as well have been organic.

I stepped closer to the mirror, touched my nose to my own reflection, and searched in the depths of my eyes for any difference. It was impossible to tell, though I noted with surprise that I looked very fresh-faced. Two years was a hell of a beauty sleep, but it left me looking…unfamiliar, to say the least. I saw a pair of tweezers by the sink and immediately started working on my wide, bushy eyebrows so I could feel a little like myself again.

Individual hairs, she'd said, had been planted in my head. They had been grown from my own cells, so they should be indistinguishable from my own hair. Their growth had been stimulated in the final stages of my reconstruction. That was why I looked so unkempt. They hadn't had time to do the finishing touches.

When I'd gone to see the doctor earlier – a friendly face at least – I'd hidden a pair of medical scissors in the sleeve of the jumper they'd given me when I got back. It brought me back to a time when I always had a knife or some other improvised weapon hidden around my person, even when I was somewhere close to safe. It was a childhood quirk of mine, and I was still a good pickpocket. I found the scissors in the pile of clothes on the floor and regarded my hair critically in the mirror. My impulse was to cut it all off, maybe even shave it later. I never had time for long hair, and I never let it get long enough to bother me, but...

Experimentally, I pulled it back. It was long enough to go into a loose bun at the base of my skull. That would do for now. I hid the scissors behind the mirror in case I changed my mind later.

I regarded the pile of clothes on the bathroom floor disdainfully. I'd have to buy some clothes that didn't have that ugly logo on them. I may have agreed to go on this mission of theirs – for now – but that didn't mean I wanted them to brand me like cattle.

If I really _was_ the best humanity had to offer, like the Illusive Man had said, then it wouldn't matter to them how I felt about Cerberus. If he was honest about his goals – something I severely doubted – it wouldn't matter what colours I wore as long as I got the job done.

It was a hell of a job, though. He'd told me I was unique, a symbol of humanity that everyone would unite behind once they saw I was fighting against the Collectors while the Alliance did nothing. I told him he was full of shit. _No one_ got to use me like that, and I didn't care what he'd poured into rebuilding me. So he said he'd understood, that it was my decision. But after visiting Freedom's Progress, that decision had been made for me. Humans rounded up like crops, children abducted mid-meal, helpless, hopeless, and with no one daring to intervene. I couldn't just let it happen. I _couldn't._ It was two years later, the world had changed, and now _this_ was where I was needed the most. And then, as though reading my mind, they'd given me everything I needed. A ship, soldiers, funds, information and _beautiful_ new armour which fit perfectly. With those, I could do _anything_.

I picked up clippers and got to work making my fingernails a sensible length – one other thing they'd run out of time to do for me.

Miranda had told me it was an impossible task, but it needed to be done. How many times had I heard _that_ before?

She wasn't the one that convinced me, though. Nor was Joker. Tali helped, when I saw her at the colony and knew, without a doubt, that two years had passed because she was suddenly _incredible_. What convinced me to go along with the whole thing was the two engineers hiding below deck. They'd been military once, but left when I and everything I'd done had been trashed by the Alliance at the same time as they used me in their fucking recruitment vids. They said Udina had called me 'either mistaken or deranged' about the Reapers. That was why I'd been reading through the last two years' worth of galactic news. I'd wanted to see it for myself, watch the interview he'd given with the one eye that was still mine.

If that was how quickly they discarded me, they didn't deserve me back. The last time I felt ignored and used-up, I killed ten people and flew away, found a new life. This time _I'd _been killed, but it was still time to move on. I'd served my sentence in the Alliance, and another year on top. I didn't owe them a damn thing. This new arrangement was what I'd always wanted in a way – no rules holding me back, unlimited resources, the chance to work with the very best people there was, doing something that really mattered. If Cerberus was legit, if I really _could_ stop the Collectors and succeed where no one else was even trying, then this was where I belonged.

For now.

That last part was an important addendum, I thought as I pulled on plain, loose clothes and moved around my cabin to inspect every detail of what they'd called my 'personal taste'. They could fund my mission, give me their unlimited resources, and I could do the impossible. As soon as that was done, if they ever became more of a hindrance than a help, I'd drop them. That was simple enough, right?

Then why did I feel so uneasy? Why did I have this uncertainty clawing away at my stomach that told me _get out, get out now_?

I sat down heavily on the bed and ran my hand over the digital picture frame on the bedside table. It showed Joker and I on the SR-1 sharing a glance, our mouths twisted into smirks from some filthy joke I couldn't remember. Was this supposed to make me _loyal_ to them? Was I supposed to think that if my friend and colleague could trust Cerberus, than I could too, _just like old times_? They weren't old times to me. This picture could have been taken last week as far as I was concerned. I pinched the screen and the picture changed into a number of thumbnails, all of which had looked like they'd been carefully vetted to make Cerberus seem cuddly as hell and hide any Alliance logos. Me and Chakwas. Me and a group of mercs I'd enjoyed working with. A group of random humans on a colony somewhere looking hopefully at the sky.

"EDI," I called, feeling ridiculous for talking to an empty room.

"Yes, Commander?" the synthesised voice replied. I hated the idea of always being monitored, even in here, even if it _was_ by a computer.

"Can you access this picture frame?" I asked, turning it over in my hands.

"I can."

"I want some other images. From the old Normandy. Pictures of my crew. Can you do that?" I knew it'd be _able_ to, but I wasn't dumb enough to think that Cerberus weren't trying to manipulate me at least a little. They may well have placed blocks on EDI which would prevent it from reminding me of my time in the Alliance too much, or something to that effect. I didn't know how sophisticated an AI it _was_.

There was a pause where EDI seemed to consider this, and then the screen went blank just before new images bloomed up on the screen.

"Are these sufficient?" The artificial inflections made it sound like it genuinely cared for a moment.

"Yes," I said, tapping my finger on one and feeling a sad smile tug at my lips as I saw a snapshot of Garrus and I checking our guns before a mission, "These are perfect."

I swiped past the next few pictures, amazed at how thoroughly our time on the Normandy had been documented. Kaidan was probably to blame for most of them. He had a sentimental streak that made him want to capture things like this, and occasionally I'd look up to see him snapping an image on his omnitool. I didn't know how Cerberus had got hold of them. I didn't care. It was just nice to see them all.

My hand paused as a picture of just Kaidan appeared. He was sat at the table in the crew's quarters, drink in hand, and he was looking just off camera like...like he used to look at me, with pride and adoration and a tilt to his warm eyes that said he could look all day. I flicked to the next picture and it was of that night we'd all played poker before the mission had taken a turn for the worst. Then I switched it back to the photo of Kaidan and realised he _had_ been looking at me. Even then. How had it taken me so long to notice? How much longer could we have spent wrapped up together instead of trying to ignore each other? I felt a knot in my belly, and knew I missed him like hell, but with that certainty came the understanding that it _didn't matter_ – he'd have moved on by now. And he'd never understand this.

There was an Alliance logo on his shirt, and I remembered the way he'd been after I'd woken up with a shrapnel wound in my shoulder and a fresh scar that was no longer there. He'd said later that he could understand mercs and gangs – their motivation was simple, normally either money or power. But a group like Cerberus, he'd said, _that_ he couldn't abide. People who did evil things and justified them by claiming a moral high ground, a greater purpose, _that_ was something he hated, because it was so easy for them to drag people in, like a cult that said _we_ were the only way to get things done or to protect what you loved. The Alliance wasn't perfect, but they also didn't believe in '_at any cost_'. I'd agreed with him then, when I thought Cerberus was just a front for Terra Firma or some ring of mad scientists. Now...well, he still had a point, but I couldn't help but think it was different.

I was in charge of this mission, they'd said. I could have my pick of the most brilliant operatives in the galaxy, the best weapons, best technology, and I could save hundreds of human colonies in the process. The same goals, different methods, at the Illusive Man had put it. As long as that was true, I'd let them fund me.

Kaidan would have to understand. He _had_ to.

I flicked the picture back to the one of us all playing poker and set it down on the bedside table before crawling under the covers and curling up against a pillow to rest my aching body. The bedding was way nicer than the regulation crap we got in the Alliance, that was for sure. As the lights dimmed and I looked at the picture, my eyes focusing automatically on Kaidan, I found myself wishing that my bed, however soft, wasn't so big and empty.

* * *

**Chapter 14: Riposte** – Shepard struggles against the tide, and two familiar faces make help her feel whole again.


	14. Riposte

Note: You may notice the next few chapters (ME2 portion finishes with chapter 19) gloss over huge portions of the game and the story and character development – that's because this is primarily a Shenko story and while there are parts of ME2 that are important, no one wants to read my novelisation of Zaeed's loyalty mission, so just assume that if I don't mention something then it's all ticking away happily in the background.

**Chapter 14: Riposte**

_Shepard_

I stood on my desk and ran my fingers along the ridge where the ceiling met the wall. I felt another tell-tale bump behind a rivet And scowled. Taking my improvised chisel – a piece of one of the model ships inexplicably dotted around the room – I wedged it behind until a tiny piece of metal fell onto the shelf. I picked it up and inspected it hatefully. Another bug. That was number six. I dropped it on the table and drove my heel down, enjoying the satisfying crunch.

I'd gone to talk to Mordin shortly after we brought him aboard. I'd been pleased that we'd recruited him – he clearly had no love for my benefactors, and developing a defence against the seeker swarms could only be a good thing. When I'd asked how he was settling in, he told me he'd already found and destroyed the several Cerberus bugs in the lab with the same cheerful nonchalance you'd expect from a house guest telling you they found the towels just fine. And so, after I left the lab, I headed straight to my cabin and began a ruthless inspection of every corner of the room. I was supposed to be sleeping, I knew – big mission to recruit the mysterious Archangel the next morning – but I didn't care. I _hated_ being watched, monitored like some prisoner or a caged animal. Especially not by _Cerberus_.

I wasn't theirs, I would _never_ be theirs.

I'd had Kelly pick me up some new clothes when we docked on Omega, and she'd actually done pretty well. It was her job to keep me happy, after all, and I guess she'd had two years to learn all about me and my personal tastes. Now there were several pieces hanging out of my sparse wardrobe that I would have picked out myself, and the plain black and grey I wore from head to toe was logo-free. It was a start.

I felt behind the edges of the mirror in the main part of my bedroom and found another bug. This one had a tiny camera lens too. I crushed it like the others, feeling my teeth grind together. They had _no right_ to do this. It was one thing for them to treat my body like I was a project – instead of letting me die they'd invaded every part of me and even replaced whole limbs without my consent – but it was _another_ for them to violate me further by watching me all the time. It was like I was less than human, a tool for them to use, a lion prowling behind bars, an asset to be carefully monitored. A weapon. I _hated_ it.

I looked up at myself in the mirror, at the reflection I was only just starting to recognise as my own. A weapon. That wasn't too far from the truth. I brought my face closer to my own reflection, nose almost touching the glass, and tried to remember which eye was fake. Maybe that one had a camera in it too, watching me wherever I went, whatever I did. I couldn't exactly take it out to check, though, right? I felt my hands shake as they closed into fists. I hadn't asked for any of this. Maybe they should have just let me _die_.

The door swished open, and I didn't turn to look. I knew who it was. No one else on this ship wore heels.

"Commander, what _are_ you doing?" Miranda asked like I was a child caught with my hand in the cookie jar. I knelt on the sofa and ran my hands over the back, still checking.

"I'm killing your bugs," I said simply, not looking at her, "I don't like being _watched_. Is that why you're here, because your screens started going dark?"

"No," she replied, sounding exhausted and curt, "as it happens I don't _have_ access to the monitoring facilities in your cabin."

"Bullshit," I spat, turning back to her with a glare, my stupid long hair brushing over my shoulders, "If you don't, who _does_? The Illusive Man? Trying to make sure his investment doesn't go _rogue_?" Something about him set me on edge. He reminded me of a much, much smarter version of my boss in the Reds, the last old man that had tried to control me. I wondered if the Illusive Man knew what I'd done to _him_?

"They're not _intended_ as surveillance equipment," she sighed, "they're intended to monitor your health, both mental and physical. Your body's been through a great deal of trauma, and waking up after two years can't be easy on your mind either. It's our duty to keep tabs on you, no more."

It made sense, and she certainly _seemed _genuine, but it didn't matter, "Even if I believed you, I don't want them," I found another bug and crushed it against the wall with the heel of my hand, "I don't like being watched, even by a machine. I'm not a fucking _child_, if I need medical help I'll go to Chakwas. She said there's monitors in my _actual body_ for life signs, so if I drop down dead I'm sure you'll be the first to know."

That had freaked me out to no end. Apparently it was nestled just behind my sternum, a tiny little piece of hardware that could link up to my advanced hardsuit and monitor absolutely everything about me, in the same way you might put dozens of unnecessary sensors on a ship like the Normandy, just because, when you spent that much money, it was nice to know that _absolutely everything_ was just fine.

"You don't trust us," she said after a while, treading carefully, "which is fair, considering your past dealings with other Cerberus cells, but you have to understand that in _this_ case we do have your best interests at heart, as well as humanity's. It's my job on this ship to make sure you're up to completing the mission, I have no other motives, I have no other orders. I report to the Illusive Man on you and the progress of the mission, but that's _it._ I don't know what else I can say to convince you. I've fought alongside you and you trusted me enough _then_. Why would I lie now?"

Fighting alongside someone was very different, I thought. We had a mission to complete, the same objectives, and it was in their best interests to keep me alive, not just because I was one hell of an investment but because they'd need me to escape whatever situation we'd dug ourselves into. I could trust Miranda and Jacob to have my back because their _own_ backs depended on it. Aboard the Normandy, however, it wasn't clear that I was the one in charge.

I stood up and looked at her carefully, crossing my arms and taking in her bearing – proud, confident, determined. If she was telling the truth, if she _was_ trustworthy, then I was just being a pissed-off, immature asshole who was making her job very difficult. I didn't care – she should have thought of _that_ before she became a Cerberus agent and took me on as her charge. They should have thought of that before bringing me back from the dead and trying to slap a collar around my neck.

I raised an eyebrow curiously, "You said you'd spent the past two years getting to know everything there is about me, right?"

"That's correct," she said, clasping her hands behind her back as though giving a report, "I was given an extensive dossier on your personal and military history."

_Extensive, _huh? If I knew anything about Cerberus it was that they liked to be thorough. "I guess you got a psych profile too?"

"I did."

"And what course of action did it recommend if there was a conflict like this? One I absolutely _would not_ back down over?" I already knew what it would say, I'd spent my early military career at disciplinary hearings being told _exactly _what the world at large thought of me. Shepard was _stubborn_. Shepard was petulant, short-tempered and often violent. My favourite was 'Shepard has a real problem with authority – unusual quality in an Alliance recruit – likely due to her textbook narcissism and persistent belief that she is somehow _better_ than her peers'.

I'd looked up that word at the time and thought it was unfair. Narcissus was an idiot who'd got himself killed. I just _was_ better. And I never backed down when I thought – _knew_ – I was right.

Miranda closed her eyes and her lips tightened into a thin line. It was the expression of someone who knew they weren't going to win, and I felt a rush of triumph.

"It recommended we make whatever provisions were necessary for your personal comfort while working with us, to ensure your full commitment to the mission and the crew."

I smirked, feeling like I was getting somewhere for the first time since I boarded this ship, "You guys know your shit."

"Very well, Commander," she sighed, "I can't exactly _stop_ you, and if this is what it takes to make you comfortable with staying on the Normandy then I'll instruct EDI to only monitor your cabin for life signs and complications related to the extensive surgery you've received. Is that an acceptable compromise?"

"Do it," I called to the ceiling.

"I will no longer be keeping audiovisual records of activity on this floor," the voice said in response, "All medical data collected will continue to be passed on to Doctor Chakwas and Operative Lawson for further monitoring of your condition."

"In the future," Miranda said, tilting her head to the side so the curtain of sleek, shiny dark hair fell over her shoulder, "I would appreciate it if you would come to _me_ with these sorts of concerns before you start tearing up your cabin. As I said, it's my job to make sure you have everything you need. That includes peace of mind."

"The fact that you report to the head of Cerberus does very _little_ for my peace of mind, Miranda."

"I hope you'll see things differently in time, Shepard. I really do." She moved over to the door, and just before it closed, she turned back, "We just want to help you do what you do best." With that, she was gone.

I brushed fragments of metal off the sole of my shoe, wondering how many bugs still remained.

"EDI," I called as a thought occurred to me, "can you lie?" I'd never worked with an AI before. I didn't know _what_ they were capable of.

"I am capable of withholding information, yes," she responded. I'd caught myself occasionally thinking of EDI as a 'she' instead of 'it', and reasoned I was just thinking of the Normandy. AIs weren't _people_.

"I mean can you tell me something that isn't true and act like it _is _true? Or the other way around?" People dismissed paranoia as a negative thing, but in this case I embraced it. I felt hard and tense as I wondered how I'd ever be sure who or what I could trust, or even if I could trust _myself_. It was so easy for others to say one thing and do another. It was so _easy_ to convince someone that everything was fine, that they had nothing to worry about, even someone like me. Paranoia was the only way to make sure I could keep my head above water and not get sucked into this Cerberus bullshit. With no one else to trust, I could trust in _that_.

"There is nothing in my programming that would prevent me from doing so if protocol demanded it," EDI responded, and I thought that at least she was honest about _being able_ to lie.

"Are you supposed to lie to _me_?" I asked quietly, already knowing the answer she'd give, "Is that in your protocol?"

"I have a block which prevents me from answering that question."

I sunk into the couch with a heavy, defeated sigh, "Of course you do."

oOoOoOo

It had been so easy to slip back into the persona of a gang member, a _mercenary_. The emotional detachment, the brutality, it fit me like a warm old coat. It took no effort at all to talk to the three gangs like I'd just as soon kill them as look at them. The peacocking, the swagger, the sweet, bloodthirsty smile of a someone who just really _enjoyed_ beating the life out of someone's eyes. It was a persona I'd crafted over years of looking over my shoulder, and it could part a crowd of recruits like the red sea. It made it simple to tell who you should _really_ watch out for, because they wouldn't fall for it, they'd think you were just some psychopath on a leash, beneath their notice.

Yes, it was easy to revert back to that, just for a while. In my Alliance uniform I might never have thought of driving the wrench into the back of that batarian engineer's skull and bringing my knee up to knock out his teeth and stifle his scream. It wasn't the killing I enjoyed, it was that moment just _before_ they died when they looked up at you and realised that you'd bested them in every way, that they'd underestimated you and for that mistake they'd pay the ultimate price.

I'd told Jacob and Miranda to keep quiet – they were too clean-cut, especially him, and they'd give us away in no time. She'd understood where this side of me came from, clearly, but Jacob had looked troubled to say the least. Maybe he hadn't thought an Alliance hero was capable of such things? Maybe he was still smarting from the way I'd treated him when we first met. It didn't matter – I wasn't Alliance any more, and Cerberus was capable of anything. _I_ was capable of anything, too. This mission was too important to let things slip because of the protocol and regulations that had been drilled into my head as a Commander.

I'd done one good thing, at least. That stupid kid that wanted to join up – he'd have been sniped in no time. I blew the fuse on his pistol and told him to fuck off home. He'd been pissed, but he'd also been _far_ too young. Almost as young as I'd been by the time I left the Reds, and infinitely more naïve.

And then we'd met Archangel.

When he took off his helmet and I realised it was Garrus, I'd almost cried out in joy, and I hadn't been able to hide the grin that spread across my face. In the past two years he'd become a force of nature just like me – feared and independent and _strong_ as hell. The overwhelming rush of relief when I saw his face was almost as great as the spike of fear I felt when he was gunned down.

In the two hours when I thought he might be dead, though…it felt like I'd lost the only friend I had in the world. The Normandy SR-1 had changed me. I'd never cared too much about losing people before – only about what it said about me and my leadership. So when it turned out he'd be fine, that the damage was mostly superficial, it was like I'd been given a gift. Garrus had been my left hand man on the first Normandy. Having him back felt like a return to sanity.

When I went to see him, though, and the doors closed behind me, the look he gave me was stern.

"Cerberus, Shepard? _Really_?" The Garrus I'd known so well wouldn't question me like that, but then that had been two years ago, before he developed this new-found easy confidence and devil-may-care attitude that I already knew I was going to like.

"I wouldn't have believed it either," I said with a weighty sigh, forever mindful of the cameras glinting in the corners of the room, "but I don't have much of a choice, not a _real_ one, anyway. If I walk away from this, I'm walking away from the only people that are doing anything about the human colonies. Even the _Alliance_ doesn't seem to care, and I could spend weeks trying to convince them to listen and to _do_ something but that never goes very well. And…I've seen what happens to colonies when Collectors hit. We don't have time to wait around, we have to act now. This shit is _important_, just like with Saren. They need me."

"So it's a relationship of necessity, is it?" he asked, lifting his jaw as though considering me carefully, "Or do you just feel like you owe them for saving your life?"

"I don't owe them a damn thing," I insisted, "and I think I've made that _pretty_ clear since I came aboard. I've been making life hell for their operatives, especially Miranda. I think they thought I'd be more…_docile_."

He hummed a laugh at the idea that I could ever be fully tamed, and I saw him glance up at the camera briefly. Then his eyes slid over to me and I twitched my eyebrows almost imperceptibly. A look passed between us, the mutual understanding that there were things which simply couldn't be said because _they_ were always watching. Garrus could read between the lines like a champion, though. I knew he'd get my meaning.

"And they're okay with that?" He asked finally, resting back on the barriers overlooking the main gun.

"They need me," I shrugged, not knowing if I was trying to persuade him or myself, "They said I'm the only one that can get this done and the more I look into it the more I'm convinced they're right. The kind of resources Cerberus can throw at this mission…it's incredible, Garrus, it's beyond the scope of anything the Alliance could pull together. And someone needs to stop the Collectors – might as well be me. At least _I_ can make sure it's done right."

At least _I_ can make sure this isn't some hideous front for some Cerberus plot. At least I can make sure they take this in the right direction. At least, with me on board, we can get this _done_.

"Then this is _your_ mission? They're just funding it?" The subtle inflections made it clear to me that he'd understood, and I nodded. He relaxed, apparently satisfied with what I'd said, "Then I've got your back. I always will."

"Just like old times?" I smirked, thinking back to the last time we'd worked together, when we stopped Saren and saved the Citadel. It had been a month and a half ago for me. _Old times_, my ass.

"Exactly. Shepard and Vakarian against the world. Nothing to hold us back this time."

Shepard and Vakarian. If it were _just_ like old times there'd be Wrex and Tali and T'Soni thrown in there too.

And Alenko.

Miranda and Jacob's biotics were pathetic compared to the things Kaidan could do, the way he could read my mind and be where I needed him before I even had a plan fully formed. I missed fighting alongside him. I missed _being_ with him. Hearing Garrus's voice again had given me a rush of something I thought must be homesickness. I even missed the goddamn _Mako_. The Collector ship had broken everything. It had almost broken _me_. I was going to stop them, no matter what it took, no matter what I had to do, they were going to _pay_ for the years and the lives they stole from me.

'_I care about you,'_ Kaidan had said, crouching down next to me as I hid away in the Normandy, his eyes intense and always, _always_ so sincere,_ 'And whatever you decide, whatever crazy plan you come up with, we're all behind you. Until the end.'_

_Until the end_. Had he just meant the mission, or something else? The end had already come for me, and apparently I'd laughed in its face and fought my way back from the grave. Would he still stand behind me now, with all of _this_ thrown into the mix? With Cerberus colours on my ship, would he still be able to look past every one of my defences and know it was _me_?

Some masochistic part of me asked Garrus about what he knew of the rest of the crew. Joker had been light-hearted but tight-lipped – he hadn't stayed in the Alliance for long after I'd died, he said. It wasn't the same without me and the Normandy, and as soon as Cerberus told him what they were doing and offered him a position, he'd taken it and counted down the days until I'd wake up and he could show me the new leather seats. He hadn't kept in touch with the rest of the old crew. I didn't mention it, but I wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that I'd only been spaced because I'd gone back for him. I wondered if he knew that I remembered_ everything, _even the way he'd screamed my name as I was thrown back, slamming against the twisted metal of the ship and then blasted out to space.

See, Shepard, _that_ was where caring got you. Blown the fuck up.

Garrus was more helpful, though not much. He said the last time he'd seen us all together was at the memorial service they'd held for me not long after my 'death'. Everyone had taken it hard, he'd said, though he thought Kaidan probably took it hardest. I tried not to react at that, and had just asked him what he meant in as neutral a voice as I could manage.

"We all cared about you," he started, "but after you died it was like Kaidan was a totally different person. It hit him hard, shook him up a lot. None of us could believe what had happened at _first_, but with Kaidan it was like he never _wanted_ to believe it – like if he moved on with his life after the Normandy it would be some kind of betrayal. Or at least that's what it seemed like to me, you humans are a strange bunch." Garrus shrugged, turning to look at the expanse of technology below his console, "He must have got over it eventually, though – the last I heard he was doing pretty well for himself in the Alliance."

"Last you heard, huh?" I leant back against the wall with folded arms and cycled through the list of dossiers in my head, the codenames and the secrecy surrounding each one, "Maybe it'll turn out he's one of the super-soldiers they've got me recruiting."

Garrus had laughed at that and said after what had happened on Omega _anything_ was possible. I moved the conversation towards his life as Archangel, then, and away from Kaidan. I couldn't think about him right now. I was torn between feeling sorry for what I'd put him through and remembering that it hadn't been my choice and _wasn't_ my fault.

He'd _have_ to understand, right? I'd bring him around. Maybe he'd even join the crew, we could fight together again and it would finally be _just_ like old times.

It was so easy to believe as I stood there talking to Garrus like nothing had changed. To me, though, nothing _had_. When I thought of Kaidan all I felt was a gnawing worry that he'd have forgotten all about me and wouldn't even _care_ that I was alive. I had to try, though. I had to keep that idea alive, because if I didn't I…I had no idea what would happen, but I knew it would hurt. I couldn't let him go just yet. I _wouldn't_. I was nothing if not tenacious. I knew I could make this whole thing work. I _had_ to.

oOoOoOo

My apartment had been repossessed, I was told, and my belongings auctioned off or destroyed. With no next of kin, no family to speak of, that was all that they could do. It was another idiotic oversight on Cerberus's part, I thought. They had the resources to bring me back to life, but not to pay my rent so that my life was still _there_ when I woke up. But then, what use did an asset like me have for personal possessions?

The guns, Miranda had said, were replaceable. Same with the rest of the things I'd picked up over my rich and varied life. I had the budget to get whatever I needed to make the cabin in the Normandy my new home. All I had to do was ask Kelly, who would do _everything _for me. Like most things Miranda said to make me feel better, it only made me angry.

And now, nervousness bubbled up in my belly as I stepped aboard the elevator to the Presidium. It was a strange feeling – I _never_ got nervous. Twitchy and irritable, maybe, but not nervous. It had started when my name popped up after the biometric scans and Bailey asked me if I wanted him to change my status from dead to alive. That was when the full extent of what had changed while I was gone became clear to me. _Everyone_ thought I was dead. The Alliance command had heard rumours I was alive, obviously, but as I headed for the embassy I felt like I was showing up somewhere I had no right to be, with no idea whether the people here would ignore me or swamp me with questions I couldn't answer. I felt like a ghost that suddenly everyone else could see.

That was why I was in casual clothes and had a hood pulled low around my face, keeping clear of the cameras and doing my best to blend in, or at least only attract the kind of notice that meant people didn't want to get in my way. I tried not to think of who I might encounter, the people I'd have to explain myself to. Anderson already knew, and I couldn't _wait _to see him, but what if there were others hanging around? What if Kaidan was there? I smoothed down my clothes unconsciously and swallowed the lump in my throat. By the time we reached the embassy I managed to walk through its halls with the confidence of someone who owned everywhere they stepped, just like I used to, just as a Spectre should. It was pretty convincing.

By the time I'd finished the meeting with Anderson and the others, though, I was furious enough that I didn't _care_ who saw me. The world had moved on, the Alliance had betrayed everything I'd done for them, and the Council acted like they'd rather I'd stayed _dead_. Had it even been worth correcting them? I was a Spectre again, but I didn't know if I even _wanted_ to keep the Council from harm after the scorn they'd showed me.

I'd saved their fucking lives. I'd sacrificed _humans_ to save their lives and they treated me like an annoyance, a nuisance that wouldn't go away. When Udina had walked in and looked at me like something he'd found on the bottom of his shoe, I went cold, and felt the love I'd once had for the Alliance for saving my life and giving me a second chance slowly draining away.

They told me it was because I was with Cerberus. I said that I was only _with_ Cerberus because they were doing something about the Collector attacks. But the Council couldn't get involved, the _Alliance_ couldn't get involved. It would risk a war, but I told them we were already_ at_ war, or at least gearing up for one when the Reapers finally came. That was something they'd conveniently forgotten too. It was like every single higher-up had been pumped full of narcotics and didn't want to see what was right in front of them. I wanted to spit on the floor and storm out, tell them to go _fuck themselves_, but something in Anderson's eyes had made me wait, tight-lipped, terse and scowling, until Udina left and we were alone.

Even so, Anderson was acting strange. I'd expected him to be pleased to see me, maybe even crack a smile, but his face was hard and neutral, and he spoke like he barely even _knew_ me. I couldn't think why, until I saw his eyes move over, just for a second, to the Cerberus agents in the corner. Ah, of _course_.

Taking a few cool, calming breaths, I finally got a chance to ask him how he'd been, and it was a familiar story. Things had been rough all round. With Udina on the Council it had gone from bad to worse, and I wished I'd taken the opportunity they'd once given me to put someone more suitable in his place. Then, subtly, I asked Anderson about Lieutenant Alenko, and he'd corrected me – Staff _Commander_ Alenko was on a mission, which was classified, and he couldn't tell me any more while I was working with Cerberus. That was when it finally hit me that Kaidan had really, truly moved on with his life. He'd grown and changed, and here I was, just the same.

He _outranked_ me now. And he was unreachable. I'd tried to do the right thing, or at least take the only option I had, and the price I paid was every other door I knew slamming in my face, like I'd _chosen_ any of this, like it was my fault.

I thought for a moment that Anderson might have known about Kaidan and I. He said he was sorry he couldn't tell me more as though he'd wronged me by just following protocol. But no, he couldn't have known about us unless Kaidan had said something, which I knew he wouldn't do. We'd been good at keeping it a secret.

_It_ was past tense.

Just before I left, feeling like I was about to implode with frustration and grief for what I'd lost, Anderson offered his hand, saying it had been good to see me. As I shook it I felt something metal in his palm, and with practised ease I slid it up my sleeve. Neither of us let on that it was anything more than a handshake, and he nodded stiffly as I left the room, like I were any other soldier.

Before heading back to the ship, I ducked into a bathroom to escape Jacob's watchful eye, and in the stall I looked at what Anderson had given me. It was a memory drive, small and easy to hide. I'd already got myself a new omnitool, just in case Cerberus had bugged the one they'd given me, so I scanned the data and sighed with relief as a message flashed up.

_Shepard,_

_If you're reading this then I'm convinced it's really you, and it's not just some trick from Cerberus. I can't think how it's possible, but if you actually _are_ back from the dead then it's the best news I've heard in a long time._

_Someone leaked that you were alive and with Cerberus – my instincts say it's Cerberus themselves, trying to get the Alliance and Council to reject you and what you've done so they can claim you as their own. I've no doubt that trick will work, seeing how this place is run, and for that I'm truly sorry. But I know you won't let them win. I know you're stronger than them, smarter too. You'll find a way to do what needs to be done without falling for their lies. Take them for everything they've got._

_I've always put my trust in you, and now is no different. If working with Cerberus is the only answer then I know you're doing it for the right reasons. Just don't forget what those reasons are. Don't forget who _you_ are either._

_Whatever you do, I know you'll make me proud._

_Anderson_

I drew in a long, shaky breath as I closed the message, and dragged a hand over my face to regain my composure before stepping out of the stall. He hadn't forgotten about me. The Alliance may have abandoned me, but he never would. Anderson had _always_ been there for me, always trusted me from the very beginning, and he trusted me now, even if he couldn't say it to my face. It felt so, _so_ good to have that kind of validation after the hell I'd lived through since I'd woken up in a Cerberus lab.

Even if the rest of them had left me in the dust, there were still a precious few allies on my side. People who _believed_ in me and what I could do. I wouldn't let them down.

I crushed the memory drive and binned it before leaving the bathroom, his message still flashing through my mind. A plan began to form in my head, abstract and vague, but _certain_.

'_Take them for everything they've got.'_

Anderson knew me better than anyone, _especially_ Cerberus, to hell with their damn psych profile. He knew what happened when people tried to play me, use me as a tool for their own advancement. I did things on _my_ terms. I would _end_ it on my terms. All I had to do was make sure the people standing behind me were there on my terms too.

As I walked back to the Normandy's docking bay, a smirk spread over my face. I'd show them _all_ what I could do.

* * *

**Chapter 15: Anchor** – Kaidan's new life on Horizon is disrupted when he hears a troubling rumour. Shepard starts to embrace her role at the head of the SR-2, and works at making it her own.


	15. Anchor

**Note: **The last chapter was pretty short and filler-y, and since I'm gone for the weekend I thought I'd give you two in one go! Thanks for reading this far!

**Chapter 15:** **Anchor**

_Kaidan_

On the two year anniversary of her death, I'd only remembered late in the evening when it came to me suddenly that _this_ was the date I'd been dreading so much ever since I realised the solar year was drawing to a close. But it had struck me in a strange, detached sort of way, and that filled me with hope. It meant, I thought, that I'd finally moved on. At last.

I hadn't dreamed of her in a long time. The night after I got blind drunk and talked myself out of my own private obsession, I'd woken up in the morning with the kind of cold, sharp clarity that comes with the mother of all headaches. She was gone, I would never get her back, and I wasn't being a martyr by keeping her alive in my mind, I was just being an idiot. The only person I was hurting or betraying was _myself_. And so, I let her go. And I'd barely thought about her since.

Being on Horizon had helped. The anniversary of the crash was in the first few days of my being posted there, and now, almost a month later, I was still being kept busy. It was hard work, and unrewarding, but I knew it was important. The Alliance was finally doing something about the Collector attacks – however small – and I was at the forefront. It felt good. It felt like the kind of thing I was supposed to be doing, even if I _did_ miss the thrill of real combat. Nothing could compare to the excitement of fighting alongside the first human Spectre, the way she'd been able tosee a battlefield and just _know_ what to do, how my biotics had worked so perfectly in sync with her movements. But that was okay too – it was just another readjustment, like so many other things after the mission aboard the Normandy. Sure, it was like going back to basic ship rations after eating nothing but gourmet cooking for a month, but no one said it would be easy. At least Horizon made it slightly easier.

The people here were wary of me, which was fair, but they weren't all bad. Some had been kind. Welcoming, even. I still got to exercise my biotics occasionally, but now it was to help with heavy lifting and other menial tasks instead of throwing geth across the room. It was peaceful, even if I knew all about the threat hanging over this place like the heavy, black clouds swirling in the sky.

The rain had come along suddenly, heavily, and people were hurrying inside. I'd been on the Citadel and other space stations for so long that I'd almost forgotten what rain was _like_. It no longer reminded me of the day I buried her. Instead the sound was...calming, in a way. It was battering down so hard that I barely noticed when the door to my small, prefab office opened and Lilith came in, a jacket held over her head to stop the worst of the rain.

"You okay?" I asked as she stood there, panting a little and smoothing back her wet hair. She nodded, a tired smile on her face as she swung her sodden jacket over the back of a chair.

"I got caught out," she said with a shrug as she caught her breath, "my mistake for not listening to the forecast this morning, I guess." She glanced at the pile of datapads on the table nearby, then back up at me, "I'm not disturbing you, am I? I'm sure I can go somewhere else if you're busy, it was just you were closest, and I thought-"

"Don't worry," I shook my head, "I can't do much until the comm buoy's back up on Prospect – they said it could take a couple of hours but that was yesterday and I'm still waiting. I'm cut off until then."

She gave an understanding smile, "It's not like you're used to, I imagine. We don't have the kind of funding here that you must get in the Alliance,"

"The funding's not the problem, it's the agent they have at that colony. He's damn near useless, I don't know why they sent him."

"I guess not every colony can be as lucky as we are, right?" Her wide mouth was turned up in a smile, and I realised she was talking about me. Lilith was one of a handful of colonists who didn't flat-out oppose me being here, and it was nice to have someone to talk to that didn't regard everything I said with an air of total suspicion. If anything she _welcomed_ me being here, and had always been kind, in a quiet, reserved sort of way.

"That's nice of you to say," I shrugged, "I just wish the others felt that way too, though I can't blame them. Since I got here, nothing's been going right."

"That's not true," she said, her wide eyes slanting sympathetically as she combed her fingers through her dark, wet hair to neaten it up, "it just seems that way because no one here's given you a break since you arrived. They're good people, but they're a bunch of paranoid rednecks," she rolled her eyes as she said that, and I remembered that she wasn't from this colony either, "they can't help not trusting you."

"They like _you_," I said with a smirk. _Everyone_ liked her. She was sweet and genuine and could mediate any quarrel that came up between the colonists and myself with astonishing patience. No one wanted to disappoint her, no one wanted to make her sad, and so she made everyone agree to disagree and had managed to facilitate an unsteady but cordial agreement between all of us here, even if some of them wanted me gone for good.

"I'm not Alliance, and I've been here for years," she shrugged, glancing to one side wistfully, "They've got a soft spot for me, I think."

"I believe that. Hell, _I've_ got a soft spot for you, you're the only one that'll _talk_ to me." She giggled at that, a blush colouring her face.

"Well _this_ was a genuine coincidence," she said, gesturing vaguely at the door and the rain pelting down outside, "but I have to admit you're better conversation than most people in this settlement. Even if I _am_ supposed to think you're Alliance scum."

I chuckled, realising as I looked back up to her that I was actually _flirting_. It made sense. She was pretty, in a warm kind of way. Not as saccharine as the doctor I'd seen on the Citadel, and she'd been giving me sideways glances and half-smiles since I'd arrived. It was about time I did something about it. She wasn't Alliance, there were no regs, it was just…simple, like it used to be before I joined the Normandy's crew.

And so I let it happen. As the rain kept falling we talked about nothing in particular just for the sake of talking. I told her more about my background in the Alliance, she told me about her childhood on Elysium – I kept my face neutral, thankful that she made no mention of the Blitz or its long-dead hero – and how she'd trained to be an engineer on an off-planet university. She was smart, I thought, but uncomplicated. Her voice was low and pleasant, and when she laughed it sounded genuine, like it wasn't just some automatic polite reaction. She had huge brown eyes that told you everything she was thinking before she even said it, and talking to her was – well, I found myself smiling more often than not, which hadn't happened for...a long time.

Eventually, though, the rain died down and it became obvious to both of us that there was no actual, justifiable reason for her staying in my office. There hadn't been one before, really, but that wasn't important at the time. She gathered up her jacket to shake out some of the water still clinging to the outside, glancing up at me uncertainly. And then, just before she left, she told me she was going for a drink with some of the other engineers later, and asked if I wanted to come with. When I said I wasn't sure the others would appreciate me being there, she replied shyly that _she_ would, and that if it was no fun we could always go somewhere else alone.

She left with a backwards glance, and as I turned back to the datapads a wide smile broke out on my face.

She was normal, and sweet. Exactly the kind of girl I needed to drag me back out of this hole I'd dug myself into over the past two years. At least this time I was _willing_ to be dragged. I was ready, I thought, and it was about time, too. I felt a wave of optimism wash over me, like everything would _actually_ be okay after so long of just pretending it was. _This_ was what I'd been waiting for since I'd attended Shepard's funeral and asked myself when it would ever stop hurting. Now, when I thought of the woman that had been my Commander, there was no sharp pain, no pangs of grief, just a sort of sober nostalgia for the time we'd had together. It had been wonderful, _perfect_, even, but it was gone, dead and buried. I'd grieved for long enough.

I stared out the window, at the sun breaking through the clouds, and I thought of Lilith. I pictured her unusual but pretty face, her soft voice and kind manner, and I found that I was excited for later that night. It was like the first real step in a new direction, I thought, and I was so, _so_ ready to leave the past behind.

Barely an hour later, my console burst into life and I knew the comm buoy was back up at last. I sat down with a weary sigh and watched as the number on my inbox skyrocketed. It was tedious stuff, really. Reports, updates from the Citadel, but they needed to be dealt with. The promotion to Staff Commander hadn't been without its drawbacks, and this was certainly one of them.

I was scrolling through the messages and scanning the subject lines when I saw something that made me stop in my tracks, knocking the breath from my lungs. Over a year ago when they set up the Jena Shepard Memorial Foundation on Earth I'd put an alert out for mentions on the extranet. It filtered out most of the background noise and was pretty good at only picking up real updates. It was nice to see something good come out of the whole mess, and I wanted to be reminded of that as much as I could. Sometimes I'd get the occasional notification that they'd got a handful of recruits from this city or that gang, and I thought maybe one of them would turn out to be the next big Alliance hero. Otherwise, the alert never popped up that much. Now, it had gone _crazy_.

Mentions of Shepard were sprouting up all over the extranet, including official Alliance channels. I skimmed some of the subject titles and felt a cold blanket of dread creep over my skin. 'Commander Shepard alive!' 'Spotted: Commander Shepard – isn't she meant to be dead?' 'Shepard back to life as Cerberus turncoat?'

I drew in a long, deep breath, and blew it out slowly. I refused to jump to wild conclusions. People were dumb enough to believe any old shit, this would just be another hoax, maybe an advanced VI. I was _sure_ of it.

But as I skimmed some of the messages, my heart rate climbing, pounding in my ears, I found there were more questions than answers. A timestamped picture popped up, grainy and badly framed, but clear enough. It showed a woman in armour, turning her head to the side, the visor on her helmet obscuring most of her face. It looked like Shepard's armour, N7 and all, and when I zoomed in I saw her chin and mouth twisted into that smirk I recognised immediately. The image sent a jolt through my body, a pain twisted in my gut, and when I tried to type I found my hands were shaking.

But that could be anyone, surely? It had just been so long since I'd seen her that my mind had recognised the N7 armour and filled in the rest with the image of the woman I'd loved. It _had_ to be that, or the picture had been manipulated, the timestamp added to make it look real.

There was a video too. I pressed play with bile brimming in my throat. The timestamp said it was from only a few days ago, and a quick scan couldn't reveal any tampering. Besides, when was the last time she'd been in the Terminus systems as an N7? It...it had to be something new. Some passer-by on Omega had caught her on camera as she went into a club, flanked by two agents with the unmistakable logo of Cerberus adorning their armour. I watched it and felt sick to my stomach. That person had her walk, her _swagger, _and when she spoke to one of the agents she had _her voice_. I searched more and found surveillance footage, pictures, all picked up in the last few days when Horizon's comms had been cut off. It was _her_.

My mind was racing, and as I forced thick, stifling air into my lungs, I came up with an explanation that made a sick kind of sense. As I searched further into the reports of sightings on Omega and other places in Terminus space with a Cerberus vessel – called the _Normandy_ for fuck's sake – it only confirmed my suspicions. Cerberus had advanced technology, they could afford the best scientists and they had no ethics to speak of. They'd do whatever it took to reach their goals. There was only one _possible_ explanation - they had constructed a mech in her image, a robot wearing her face and speaking with her voice but under their control.

In fact it made _perfect_ sense. They wanted to be seen as humanity's only hope, what with the Collector attacks undermining what little confidence the outer colonies already had in the Alliance. Commander Shepard was humanity's greatest soldier, an icon the Alliance still held up as an ideal, even if they'd trashed her ideas. People trusted her, _believed_ in her, most young soldiers had been fed stories of her legendary skill since joining up and would jump at the chance to follow her. With someone like her spearheading their efforts, they could bring humanity over to their way of thinking. It was _sick_, even for them.

I didn't entertain the thought – not even for a second – that there was anything real about this. It was so obviously a trick by Cerberus that it made me angry that anyone had even _considered_ otherwise. Shepard would never work with them, even if she _were_ alive, and I'd seen her buried. I'd been the first one to find out she was _dead _for fuck's sake. They were using her memory to their own advantage, using her _face_ to further their own agenda. It was sickening – like digging up a corpse, attaching strings and making it dance. I was only here because the Alliance had a suspicion that Cerberus were responsible for the attacks on the colonies. This was exactly the kind of thing they'd do. Invent a threat, stir up trouble, then create someone like her to deal with it and get everyone's trust. Manipulation was their greatest weapon, preying on people's fears. It wouldn't work. Jena hadn't been just some robot. She was unique. They _couldn't_ recreate her.

Blue fire crackled across my knuckles and I took a deep, calming breath. My hands were throbbing, itching to do some damage, find whoever was responsible for this grotesque deception and make them _pay_.

I spent hours learning everything I could about the situation, collating together every sighting, working out the timings, trying to think of what their ultimate plan could _possibly_ be. I started looking into Cerberus labs we'd raided, trying to think back to any mention of a plan like this, or an indication that their robotics division was advanced enough to create something as lifelike as the ghost I saw on the video.

Wherever she went, this imposter said she was looking for people to help her fight the Collectors. They were _recruiting_, and using her to do it. It was just as I'd thought.

It was wrong of them. _Evil_. She was dead. They should have let her rest.

I composed an encrypted message to Anderson, telling him what I'd found and asking if he knew anything more. I wrote to old friends and comrades and called in favours. I did whatever I could to find out everything there was to know about this...thing with Shepard's face.

I didn't know how long I sat there, eyes glued to the holoscreen, but when I heard the door slide open and saw Lilith standing there looking worried, it was pitch black outside.

With a sudden rush of shame, I remembered.

I told her I was so, so sorry, and then, because she asked, I told her the truth, or at least close enough to the truth as I could manage. I replaced Shepard's name with 'an old friend' and told her what little I knew about the unfolding situation. I tried to make it sound like a very, _very_ good reason for me to forget that I was supposed to meet her at the bar hours ago. It was long past midnight, and everything was already closed. I'd never been late for a date before, let alone forgotten about one completely. Snapped out of my own little world, I felt terrible, and selfish as hell.

She looked disappointed, but understanding, and told me without a trace of sarcasm or bitterness that she'd leave me to work if it was so important. It was strange. I tried not to think of how Jena would react to something like this – probably tell me to check my fucking priorities before storming out in a way that said she had far better places to be anyway.

I told Lilith I'd make it up to her, and as she left with a backwards glance to shoot me a small smile, I realised that I _couldn't_ make it up to her. Not as long as this thing was walking around the galaxy like it had any right to use Shepard's face. The fact that I knew she wasn't real didn't change the fact that it was _her_ – that face and body and voice I'd tried so hard to forget. She was an anchor, pulling me back down just when I thought I'd be able to move on. When I closed my eyes I saw _her_, and just like that my insides twisted up with sad, futile outrage.

_Cerberus_. It was their fault.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

I slipped off my other shoe and felt the sharp gravel between my toes as I flexed my bare feet against the ground. I propped my shoes up on a ledge – they'd do no good here anyway. I could barely stay upright in high heels, let alone kill in them.

My pistol felt so _good_ in my hand, but this wasn't a job where I could let lose. Here, as Kasumi had said, we had to be subtle. That was fine. Four years of ballet taught in a private school had mixed well with the eight years of receiving random bits of skill training from assassins, mercenaries and combat experts. I could _do_ subtle.

I hitched up the tight, leathery dress I wore and crept across the gravel silently, watching the back of my target's head like a lioness stalking its prey. A flicker of energy to my right, and I knew Kasumi was uncloaking. My hands came up and in one smooth, practised movement I broke his neck. He crumpled with very little fuss, and I saw Kasumi's target go down just the same as she stunned and dispatched him.

I barely saw the other guard, the one that rounded the corner just that second by coincidence, but before I knew it I'd leapt across the gravel and launched the heel of my palm straight into his mouth, cutting off the warning he'd tried to shout into his commlink. His eyes were wide as I grabbed the back of his head and brought his face down _hard_ on my knee. He spluttered out teeth, still alive. Wouldn't do.

I crushed the back of his skull onto the ledge where my pretty shoes stood, indifferent, and drove my elbow into his windpipe. With an ugly, gasping noise he crumpled to the ground, the light gone from his eyes. It would have been easier if I'd brought my knife, the long, ornate dagger I bought on Omega that reminded me of the tools I used to carry in the Reds. I was good with knives too, but they were messy, too messy for a job like this.

I looked down at my body, spattered with blood from the man I'd just killed. It hadn't been clean, not like the first one. It had been a while since I'd seen a dead enemy's blood smeared across my bare, unarmoured hands. Even longer since I'd seen that and my _nails_ had been painted. They were a dark red colour, like the blood that streaked across my palms and the wall where the guard had breathed his last. Kasumi said it would suit me. The colour of blood had _always_ suited me.

She wandered over, an amused quirk to those oddly marked lips of hers, and asked if I was ready to move on. I wiped my hands on the dead guard's shirt and rubbed at my knee where his teeth had left a mark, feeling entirely detached. I was told this kind of thing could haunt a regular person, but it had never bothered me, not when I knew I was in the right. It was as simple as butchering an animal, and I was so, _so_ good at it.

'_You're a killer, Jena,'_ Calvern had said once, the last time I stood in front of him and did nothing, '_That's all you'll ever be.' _I may have been a killer, but at least _I_ was still alive, and the killing was on my terms.

I told Kasumi I was good to go, and picked up my shoes. I'd need them after I was finished ransacking Donnovan Hock's room for DNA. And whatever else I wanted to steal.

Not being Alliance _did_ make things much simpler. If I wanted something, I could just _take_ it, safe in the knowledge that I was taking it from evil people and that Cerberus didn't give a shit about that kind of thing. It was extreme, but I was getting used to it fast. I'd never felt more powerful in my life. It wasn't just the cybernetics, it was the knowledge that there was _nothing_ holding me back, and that I'd been given a carte blanche to do _anything_ I could to complete the mission, rules and regulations be damned.

I still missed the others, and the first Normandy. Of course I did. But this was what I was _made_ for.

Later, when the mission was over and Kasumi had her lover's greybox back, my thoughts turned to Kaidan. I'd been trying to stop that from happening recently – he was a distraction – but I'd got so used to him just _being_ there that I still felt a stab of disappointment when I remembered I had no idea where he was. I kept expecting to bump into him in the halls of the ship or to wake up in the middle of the night to find him in the mess hall, fuelling his biotic metabolism. But he was never there. Along with the certainty that something was _missing_ from my life came an unwillingness to do anything about it, or think about it at _all_. Without him around to soothe my fears about 'us' or what it had meant, I didn't know what to think, and I didn't know how to act.

I knew I should try to find him, but I didn't know _how_. I couldn't contact Anderson as I was still pretty certain Cerberus were at least monitoring if not flat-out _manipulating_ my communications. Besides, I had no idea where Kaidan was, or how to get in touch with him because no one would _tell_ me.

I didn't even know how much he'd care. Maybe he wouldn't care at all. Maybe he'd be furious.

I remembered the way he'd looked at me in my cabin the last time I saw his face – as though we were in on this little game together, like he was only leaving my room so he'd have the pleasure of walking back in later. We'd _understood_ each other. He'd been exactly what I'd needed then, and…and now nothing had changed to me, and he was _still_ something I needed.

For me it had been just over a week. For him, it had been over two years. There was no precedent for this, no wider cultural reference I could use to tell me how I was supposed to act in this situation. I didn't even know if he'd want to see me. To him I was just another ghost.

And so I tried not to think about him, about _any _of it, but it didn't work. I still missed him like hell. And it _sucked_.

oOoOoOo

It hadn't taken long for me to get used to my new quarters, or the huge bathroom fitted out with a shower that felt like a full-body massage after missions. The steam was sucked up by the fan as I wound a towel around my body and, I noted with interest, the mirrors were heated and didn't fog up. When your pockets were as deep as the Illusive Man's, these little luxuries were nothing. Working with Cerberus certainly _did_ have its benefits.

I stared at my own reflection, skin pink and flushed from the heat. The scars were healing, though not as fast as I'd have liked. Chakwas told me the best thing for them would be rest, but seeing as that was impossible I'd just have to try to keep calm and think positively, as though either of those were real options now. Aside from those, the dark hair that fell to my shoulders in thick, wet clumps made me look like I had when I was a child, and it wasn't a sight I was getting used to. While I'd have preferred to keep my body as it had been before, the cellular rejuvenation meant that, where the flesh had already fused together, I had the skin of an eighteen year old. Smooth, unscarred, pale and scattered with the odd freckle. It didn't look like me at _all_.

We'd just picked up Jack, the biotic with the ink and the buzzcut and the take-no-prisoners attitude that I'd recognised immediately. Not because I'd seen her before, but because I was just an Alliance commission away from _being_ her. It was a sobering thought, and it made me remember the day that man in the _nice_ suit had come in to the police station to give me a get-out-of-jail-free card. I hadn't felt lucky at the time. I had no idea how much worse things could have been, where I could have ended up.

I reached behind the mirror in an oddly detached way, and found the scissors I'd stashed on my first day aboard. I gathered the hair above my ears in one hand and secured it on top of my head with an elastic in a loose topknot. Then I slid the strands at the base of my skull through my fingers, barely aware of what I was doing, and cut them off, a chunk at a time, until they were so short I couldn't grip them any more. The sound of the blades slicing through hair with a satisfying _shhhink_ brought a smirk to my face. I rummaged in the well-stocked bathroom cabinet and found a razor, likely intended for a person who hadn't had most of the hair below their neck lasered off without their consent.

Miranda had said it was for my benefit, like all the other little 'improvements' I'd noticed. I was _sure_ my breasts were bigger too, but, seeing as the armour fit just fine, I didn't mention it. She'd said they hadn't seen the point in repairing the hair follicles on most of my body if I was just going to remove it every week like most other commandos so I could let the bodysuit under my armour do its job instead. She had a good point, but I still missed the feeling of the short, scratchy hairs sprouting over my skin after a few days, reminding me I was a living, breathing human creature, organic and not a machine.

I took the razor from the cabinet and dragged it across the back of my head, tapping the short hairs off in the sink after. It took a few minutes before I was done, and then I turned my head to see an expanse of short, black stubble running from ear to ear. I freed my hair from the elastic and shook it out so it fell back down to my shoulders, hiding what I'd just done. But I didn't want to hide it. I wanted to look like _me_. I picked up the scissors again and hacked away.

It was a small thing, I knew. A tiny, teenage gesture of defiance. But at that moment it felt important for me to at least _look_ like myself, to take control of my own body after having it at the mercy of Cerberus scientists for so long. Jack had reminded me of that. She wore herself on the outside, covering her skin even more expansively than anyone I'd ever seen, and she _looked_ like what she was – a simmering tinderbox of resentment, futile rage and animal instinct.

I dipped my head over the sink and shook my fingers through my hair, dislodging the odd strand and watching as they tumbled down to join the others in the sink. When I looked back up, the woman I saw staring back was much more familiar, and I could still pull back what was left of my hair into a tight bun for combat. I ran my hand up the back of my neck and a smirk pulled at my lips as I felt the scratchy stubble dotted over my scalp give way to the smooth, thick tresses up top. That was better. At least I didn't look like I was trying to be _Miranda_ any more.

I ran the water into the sink and watched the lab-grown hairs disappear into the plughole, the Normandy's advanced garbage disposal system chomping them up immediately.

It had been a good idea to leave Miranda behind when we boarded Purgatory, even though she'd wanted to come. She took an immediate dislike to Jack, and the feeling was _definitely_ mutual. That would have muddied things up. I'd talked Jack around to my way of thinking, though, and as far as she was concerned she was working for _me_ and not Cerberus. That was the feeling I'd been trying to foster in everyone I'd recruited, and it seemed to be sticking.

Jack had almost been _too_ easy. With Zaeed and Garrus at my back I'd marched up to her and made it very clear that _I_ was the biggest, baddest bitch in the galaxy, not her, but that if she came with me I'd give her a chance to unleash pure biotic hell and get rewarded for it with her freedom, all the data she wanted and a shitload of credits to boot. I told her what _I'd_ want to hear in her position – that I'd always tell her the truth, I'd demand only the best, and that she could kill me if I turned out to be lying. When she asked me how she'd know I wasn't just fucking with her like Cerberus had always done, I'd explained that I wasn't working for Cerberus, _they_ were working for me, whether they knew it or not, and that I had no reason to lie to her.

I tossed the towel to one side as I strode back into my room, and rifled in the drawers by my bed for clothes.

I needed a ship full of the best people in the galaxy, just like me. Jack was on that list, and it was easy to see why. There was a war coming, I knew, even if we stopped the Collectors, and I wanted her on my side. It was the same with the others. There was something about them all that was familiar, a loneliness that came with being the very best in your field, used to relying on nothing and no one. If I was to string a team together, it was only right they all be just as broken as I was.

Jack, though, she was different. She reminded me of myself, of what could have been. I'd been raised on the streets, she'd been raised in a lab. I had unnatural skill just as she did, though mine was a little easier to control. Just like me, she cut and ran when she thought there was nothing left for her, or if she sniffed out that people were just using her and pretending to care. Just like me, she'd always looked out for herself and put survival first. She always left a way out and was alive because of _instinct_. I recognised that in her, and I respected it. Maybe she saw the same thing in me, and that was why she was pacing in the belly of the ship even now.

She'd wanted somewhere dark, quiet and _safe_. No matter how sophisticated humans became, we were still just animals with the same basic needs. Warmth, food, shelter, safety. Love.

But it was hard for people like us. People who had been betrayed before, cast aside, we knew the value of 'safety' more than most. I still didn't trust Cerberus, and I knew I never would, but I was beginning to wonder about Miranda. It was entirely possible that she'd been genuine with me. I knew she'd been withholding information, that was a given, but I was starting to think that she might not have lied about herself or her motives. It was possible, I thought, that her orders really _were_ to help me, and that she _really did_ believe in what she was doing. If that was true, I wondered how easy it would be to bring her over to my side.

The long-term plan, though I hadn't breathed a word of it out loud, was to '_go pirate,'_ as Jack had put it. Take this ship, take whoever wanted to come with me, and cut my ties with Cerberus as soon as we started going in different directions. I'd assumed at first that both Miranda and Jacob would have to be booted out of the airlock, or maybe left on a moon somewhere if I was feeling charitable, but over the past week I'd started to think that Jacob and his idealism could be talked around to my side. Miranda may not be a lost cause either. I'd have to see.

That plan was a burning beacon in my mind, something I kept for myself when everything else around me was stamped with a fucking Cerberus logo. It was my reminder that I wasn't theirs, and that I never _would_ be. When the idea first came to me, I felt seventeen again, staring at my boss talk but not hearing the words he said, feeling warm inside because I knew something he didn't – I knew how he was going to _die_, and I knew he'd spend his last seconds wishing he hadn't underestimated me. This time it felt much the same. Even if I went to my death advancing my goals, it would be because _I_ wanted to, not because of them. I was doing the right thing, I was _sure_ of it. The Alliance would have to understand that. Kaidan would, too.

Kaidan. I had to contact him, I knew. Explain myself. I'd left it so long now, afraid of getting a response I couldn't handle. But it was time.

He might have already heard about me, seen surveillance pictures or something. I hadn't exactly been subtle with my dealings on Omega and beyond, and even though I wore a helmet most places and had taken great pains to be discreet on the Citadel, I knew there was a good chance that rumours would be floating around that I was back. It was a truth I'd been ignoring for a while, in the hopes that it would just resolve itself.

I didn't know how he'd take it. We were on completely different wavelengths. For me it had been less than a month. I'd moved on to another organisation, another mission, but I still felt the same as I had on the first Normandy. For him it had been over two years, and he now _outranked me_. I could still technically give him orders as an N7 and a Spectre, but he wouldn't be the same Lieutenant I'd ordered into the escape shuttle, fearing for his life should he try any heroics.

But I had to try, at least. I owed him that much. I wanted him to find out from me, not someone else who could twist my working with Cerberus into something it wasn't.

I sat down in front of my console and ran a few programmes Kasumi had uploaded to my omnitool. They were supposed to block monitoring and encrypt the messages I sent, but I had a feeling that nothing I did would be private on this ship, even if Miranda assured me otherwise. There were hints, now and again, that she wasn't completely in control of this operation, and that she didn't know every little thing that went on. With that in mind, I knew I couldn't give too much away, even as I typed in his old service address. There was a possibility he wasn't using it any longer, but I knew I had to try.

The blank message stared at me threateningly. I had no idea what I could say.

Idiotic phrases like 'I miss you' and 'I'm still the same as I was' were out of the question, obviously. If he hadn't forgotten about me, he'd certainly have moved on. And so, with that in mind, I told him the truth, or at least as much as I was happy with Cerberus reading. I told him I was alive, that I knew it was hard to believe, and that I was on a mission funded by Cerberus to stop the Collectors. I said I was doing fine, even though I'd been in a coma or worse for two years. I told him to tell me where he was so I could see him in person, prove I was alive and explain myself further. He deserved that much. I found myself writing about how it wasn't the same without him around, and deleted it immediately. Keep it professional. Things had _changed_.

Before I sent it, something occurred to me. He'd have no reason to believe this message was from me. Why the hell would he respond, let alone tell me where he was? He'd probably think it was some sick joke. I needed proof. I reached up to the camera above my console. There was a click, and then a photo appeared on the screen. I looked tired as hell, but at least my hair was nice. It would have to do. I embedded it in the message and wrote a line explaining it. And then, as an afterthought, I told him to watch his back, because I didn't want anything happening to him before I got a chance to see him in person.

I pressed send without reading it back, and prayed that I hadn't just made a huge mistake.

oOoOoOo

I didn't know until much, much later that the message didn't have a hope in hell of reaching him. Just after we'd left Cerberus in a rather spectacular display of mutiny and the Normandy SR-2 became an independent vessel under my control, Miranda revealed that it was more than likely that Kelly had been given special instructions to block messages to and from certain people. Kaidan would have been one of them. He was listed in my file as too 'good' an influence, apparently. 'Incorruptible'. Cerberus didn't know what to do with him. His considerable skills and combat experience would have made him perfect for my crew if only he hadn't stuck by the Alliance and been vocal in his distrust of the very people I was working with. As things stood, he'd been unsuitable, and even letting me get in touch with him would have chipped away at Cerberus's control of me and the mission.

They still wanted to use him, though, he was another _valuable asset_. That was why they'd tipped off the Alliance, had him stationed on Horizon. With him there, they could get confirmation that the Collectors were seeking out people or places connected with me, and this all came with the added bonus that Kaidan would probably die or be taken when the Collectors hit. That would strengthen my resolve to follow through with the mission, as I would be avenging a friend as well as stopping a threat to humanity. And so, Staff Commander Alenko would have served his purpose.

Kelly had only the simplest idea about all this, but she'd known all the same. Cerberus liked to compartmentalise. If you didn't _absolutely_ need to know something, you didn't get to know it. That was why Miranda wasn't put in charge of monitoring my communications, though she still had access. Instead, they gave me Kelly who was supposed to earn my trust and affection with her sugary manner, and use that access to sway me in a certain direction, namely towards Cerberus and away from the Alliance. She only let the odd Alliance message get through so I wouldn't suspect anything. She only let Anderson get in touch because she knew that he wouldn't be able to do or say a damn thing. It was lucky that she'd been killed before I'd managed to get everyone out of the Collector pods when we stormed their base. What they'd done to her was nothing compared to what I'd have put her through after learning the truth. I didn't like being manipulated, especially not when it involved the strategic _death_ of someone I…still cared about, despite everything that happened since.

When I first sent the message, though, there hadn't been time to consider any of this. I'd still been convinced that _everyone_ on the ship was under some extracurricular instructions from Cerberus to fuck with my mind in some way, and I hadn't narrowed it down to individuals yet.

The next morning I'd immediately been called in to see the Illusive Man who told me about Horizon and Kaidan being stationed there, something he'd known about since I'd woken up. I'd wanted to shout that if he wasn't telling me everything then he was worse than _useless_ to me. I'd wanted to tell him that I wasn't a blunt instrument of his that he could just point and let loose at his whim. But I couldn't, because for every moment I spent talking, Horizon got closer to being wiped out, and Kaidan – idiot Alliance hero that he was – got closer to being _killed_. I knew he'd do everything in his power to save the colonists, sacrifice himself for them if he had to, so getting there _fast_ had been the only thing on my mind.

I hadn't known what I'd say to him if I saw him there, but I'd figured that mattered less than making sure I pulled him and the colonists out _alive_. And so we'd gone to Horizon, and I'd somehow got it in my head that I'd save him, that he'd be grateful and overjoyed to see me, and that the cramps in my belly were nerves over…something else. Now, looking back, it was a stupid, _naïve_ thing to believe, the kind of fantasy a child invents as a defence mechanism to convince themselves they were still loved by parents who didn't even notice them. If I'd thought about it for half a second I'd have realised that _of course_ he'd be angry and confused, _of course_ he wouldn't understand. I should have gone in expecting that. Instead, I'd gone in wide open and he'd shut me off, looked at me like he had no idea who I was.

That was the last time I saw him.

* * *

**Chapter 16: Numb **– Kaidan is shocked when the only aid that comes for Horizon is the last person he expected. Shepard deals with the aftermath of their confrontation with the help of an old friend.


	16. Numb

**Note:**** Thank you all SO MUCH for the lovely reviews! They really make me want to push forward and finish this story, so please do leave one even if you just want to tell me that you're enjoying it :)**

**Chapter 16: Numb**

_Kaidan_

The door slammed down, crushing a few of those insects as I limped inside the warehouse. I had no idea what they were or where they'd come from, all I knew was that they couldn't get through solid walls, and that was a start.

The Alliance had been right. Human colonies _were_ being attacked, but if this was Cerberus then they'd certainly _branched out_ since the last time I'd tangled with them. I took a second to catch my breath, scanning the room in case any of the creatures had made it inside.

Those aliens, the larger ones, they'd taken my gun as I stood there, frozen and helpless in some kind of stasis. And then they'd started to take the people around me, pack them up like they were cargo. One of them carried Lilith past me, her eyes rolling around in a blind panic while the rest of her remained absolutely still. It would have been kinder just to _kill_ me, or at least to knock me out so I didn't have to watch as the colony I'd been sworn to protect was purged before my eyes and the still, unresisting bodies of the colonists were loaded into those pods.

I was strong, though. Stronger than they'd thought. Maybe it was my fast metabolism, maybe it was the barrier I'd been trying and failing to summon for hours as I stood there, powerless, but at one point I realised I could move my fingers. They hadn't noticed, and I'd kept perfectly still as the stasis flowed from my body. When one approached me, no doubt to pack me away with the others, I'd thrown up a barrier and hit it with a shockwave. The creatures were on me instantly, the tiny ones, swarming and hurling themselves against the barrier but somehow I'd kept it solid and none had broken through. With stiff, paralysed legs I'd hobbled to the nearest warehouse and locked the door behind me.

I'd passed a number of frozen colonists, and hadn't been able to look at any of them in case they looked back. I was too weak to save them. Whatever those creatures had poisoned me with, it was _potent_, and I felt the resistance in my limbs every step of the way, like I was moving through syrup. It had taken all the strength I'd mustered in the past two years of intense biotic training to break free, even after hours of trying. My amp felt hot, but there was no time to recover.

I limped over to the nearest console and sent out a distress signal followed by a forceful voice message explaining briefly what had happened and hailing all Council vessels to come to our _immediate_ assistance. Both of them bounced back. Nothing was getting through the interference caused by that damn swarm and whatever jamming technology those creatures had.

I swore and pounded my fist on the console, frustration boiling over. My hands hovered over the keypad in front of me as though waiting for an idea to pop into my head, some kind of action to take, but there was _nothing_ I could do. If I opened the door to try and drag in a few frozen bodies before they were hauled away, there was a very good chance I'd be bitten and taken myself. I couldn't reach anyone else, and just moving that short distance had drained me. None of the main guns were operational, there were no weapons in this warehouse, and no way to send out any signals. For all my training, all my experience, when it came down to it I was utterly helpless.

My mission was to protect them all, and I'd failed. I was maybe a day away from getting that _goddamn_ defence tower back online, but I'd failed at that, too. I wasn't fast enough, wasn't good enough, and they were all suffering for it.

I looked up at the array of screens, taking heavy, ragged breaths and feeling pitiful. Surveillance cameras showed those creatures moving around, harvesting humans like crops, and all I could do was stand there and watch.

Suddenly, there was a flash across the screen and one of the larger aliens flew back against a pile of crates and crumpled to the floor, dead. I grabbed the controls to the cameras and dragged that feed across several displays to enlarge it, squinting as I tried to make out any kind of movement. Had one of the colonists got free? They wouldn't last long, the swarms paralysed anything that moved, unless…

Unless it was someone else. Someone who'd found some way to protect themselves from the swarms.

With a flicker of hope, I brought up the camera pointed at the landing bay and saw a shuttle that hadn't been there before. It was half-hidden, and the only thing I could make out was _SR-2_. What the hell did that mean? If it was an Alliance designation, I didn't recognise it. I switched cameras so I could see the other side, and a logo caught my attention. As I zoomed in, my stomach began to churn with resentment at a sight I'd half-expected. I _knew_ that logo. It was Cerberus – they were here, just as the Alliance had predicted. But they were also attacking the _aliens_. As I manipulated the cameras that became clear as more and more of them went down, but the mystery agents were eluding me and I couldn't get a decent look.

The theory was still swirling around in my head that Cerberus had orchestrated these attacks just so they could be the ones to stop them and paint themselves as heroes. It made sense. How else would they know we'd been attacked? How else were they unaffected by the swarms? It didn't explain how they'd got these aliens to work for them, or where their superior technology had come from, but I'd figure that part out later.

The Shepard-bot wouldn't be with them, I decided. There was no reason for it to be. Jena Shepard's strength in battle had come from her natural instincts, her total confidence in her own abilities, the way she'd walk into a situation, glance around, and know _immediately_ what to do. It was based on years of experience, a deep understanding of people and how they worked, and natural intuition that you just couldn't train in another person, let alone programme in a mech. If they were using their creation how I thought, they'd keep her for public appearances, maybe wheel her in for a photo op once Cerberus units had cleared the site of an attack.

I wouldn't let them, not with Horizon. They wouldn't use her image like that, and they wouldn't use the deaths of these colonists to further their fucking _agenda_.

I switched another camera and saw a Cerberus commando immediately, a tall, wide-shouldered man with a decent command of biotics, but they looked dampened, watered-down as though he were only recently implanted with one of the newer amps that didn't let as much raw power through as mine did. The logo on his chest was all the confirmation I needed. But where were the others? I'd expected a whole unit, not just the three that sped across another camera as they changed positions.

There was a turian with them. That was…surprising, to say the least. I'd thought Cerberus only worked with humans.

And then I switched to another camera as they approached and a hot wave of dread shot down through my body. It was her armour, the same I'd seen in those videos and pictures of her sighted all over the Terminus Systems. The hardsuit was sleek and black with accents of deep red, engineered for maximum speed and mobility, just the way she'd liked it back when she was alive.

When the thing turned its head to face the camera, helmet off, I knew at once that they'd brought their creation here. But why? And why was it leading their team?

An idea formed in my mind, and I pushed it away at once, buried it beneath a pile of facts that said otherwise. That was impossible. She was _dead. _I felt my pulse quicken until it was pounding in my ears. I had _no idea_ what I was looking at, and I hated the uncertainty.

As more aliens flooded into the courtyard I watched the thing in her armour burst into action, shouting directions to the other two as she dived behind a prefab hut and started shooting. I watched her advance, sprinting out of cover, taking out three aliens with a dancer's grace before she ducked back behind another crate.

"No," I heard myself whisper. A cold, prickly feeling spread across my body as, for the first time, I seriously began to wonder if she could be…_real_.

I'd dismissed it as impossible before, _of course _I had. Joker had seen her get spaced with his own eyes. She'd been gone for _two years_. The idea that she'd just _leave_ and show up after all this time working with Cerberus was…was…

…It was seeming more and more likely by the second as I watched her move in a way only _she_ could move.

"_No,_" I hissed, hands shaking as I leaned in close to the display, nausea twisting my stomach, "Please no. Not _them_. Anyone but..."

They could have analysed everything about her to build a perfect replica. They could mimic her looks, her voice, even that walk of hers. But nothing and no one could fight like Jena Shepard.

I felt myself sink into the chair in front of the console, and I watched, transfixed and trembling, as she tore through their lines, the other two commandos doing little but backing her up and keeping out of the way. The turian was good, I supposed. Familiar, even. I zoomed in on the armour, the unforgettable way he ducked behind cover and swung his sniper rifle over the top to take a kill shot. I _knew_ who that was, and at once I knew for certain that this was real.

One after the other, thoughts hammered into my head with cold, brutal certainty. It was _her_. She'd come back. She'd brought Garrus. And she was with _Cerberus_.

If I hadn't already been sitting down, I knew I'd have fallen over. I felt sick, my breath coming fast and tight, ice prickled at my skin, just as it had when I'd found out she was dead, only I didn't know how I was _supposed_ to take this new information. All I'd ever wanted for the past two years was for her to come back and tell me it had been some terrible dream and that she was fine, to hell with logic or an explanation that made any kind of sense. But _not like this_. This was a nightmare all of its own, and, I knew, it made a horrible kind of sense. A new idea formed in my mind, a theory that had her leaving the Alliance, taking up with Cerberus and working with them in secret this whole time, playing me and everyone else for a fool. I didn't know the details, I couldn't think how she'd got away from the attack on the Normandy, why she wouldn't even _try_ to explain things to me or how she could have been so cruel to _pretend_ for that short time we were together, but the evidence was right there in front of me. Another waking nightmare.

She was alive. Garrus was with her. And she was working for Cerberus. None of those facts fit with all the things I thought I knew about her. And so, I thought with my teeth grinding together, all the things I knew about her had to be wrong.

I knew she'd been too good to be true. It had _all_ been too good to be true.

I watched as they fought their way to the defence tower, the only thing that could disable the alien's ship and stop it from taking off. I watched as she darted around the area surrounding the console, dispatching the aliens with the efficiency of an assassin. And then that creature came, the hulking great thing that hauled itself into the sky and slammed back any obstacles with its savage assaults that dominated the battlefield. But I knew it didn't stand a chance – the battlefield had always been _her_ playground.

My eyes stayed on her as she scrambled up the side of the console, leapt to a thin wall, dashed along its edge towards the creature and hurdled over its biotic attack, the shockwaves just missing her boots as she tucked her legs beneath her, landing on what passed for its head and skidding to a halt by dragging a long knife through its flesh. It tried to buck her off but she was already blasting it one-handed with her shotgun as she held fast to the knife buried deep. It reared back to throw her off and at once she turned and leapt from the creature just as her two squadmates fired at its underside. It was already shaking and building a blast as she rolled onto the ground, and I saw her duck into cover just as its entire body ripped apart in a brutal explosion.

And then, breathless, I watched her stroll over to its corpse, pick up her knife, flip it once in the air and drive it back into the sheath by her thigh.

I still remembered Knossos with perfect clarity, the total, all-consuming awe I'd felt the first time I'd really watched her _work_.

There was no doubt in my mind any more. It was her. It had to be. But unless she was brainwashed I couldn't understand how she'd got there, with _them_.

"_No_," I whispered once more, pitifully, not even knowing why I was saying anything at all. No one was listening. There was just me, alone in this warehouse, watching her do what I couldn't. Cleaning up my mess.

I saw the alien ship leave, and the defence tower blasting uselessly at the sky. She'd been good, but the aliens knew when they were outmatched and had left before finishing the job rather than let her stop them. Thanks to her, there were pockets of colonists still left scattered about in stasis. She'd saved as many as they'd been able to.

That was the only reason I didn't come out of the warehouse _shouting_. That was the only reason I thought I'd give her at least a _chance_ to explain herself.

The door whirred open and I saw there were no more swarms of the flying creatures. I thought of how there famously wasn't a single situation that Commander Shepard couldn't shoot, punch or talk her way out of, and I wondered what the hell she could _possibly_ say to make this all fine again. I tried not to think of the last time I'd seen her face in person as the doors to her cabin closed behind me, or the fact that she'd been cruising around the galaxy with terrorists while I'd been a wreck for two years, tearing myself apart because I followed her orders and _left her behind_. I wouldn't let her talk her way out of it, not _this_ time.

My stomach was heaving with nervousness and anger and anxiety and the _stress_ of all that had happened today. I didn't know what I wanted to see as I rounded the corner to stand in front of her and her squad, heart in my throat. Half of me wanted to see her eyes glowing red, her not recognising me, _anything_ to indicate that it was someone or some_thing_ else. The other half wanted nothing more than to forget everything, to run up to her, hold her in my arms, breathe in her scent and transport myself back two years ago to when, for a time, she was mine and it was _perfect_.

And then she turned to face me, we locked eyes and I knew at once that it was _her_, and she was even more beautiful, even more _stunning_ than I'd remembered. The rest of the world faded into the background as the fact that this was _real _hit me again and again until I almost believed it. As soon as she saw me her entire face lit up with relief, her eyes alight with exertion and her mouth curling up into an astonished smile. I kept my face neutral, forced myself not to be drawn in until I got an explanation, but it was impossible to ignore the way my heart _pounded_ in my chest at the very sight of her, and all the dead feelings I'd kept buried rushed to the surface, alive and raw.

I couldn't believe she was standing in front of me. Even when she was right _there_ my brain refused to believe it.

"_Kaidan,_" she breathed, and her voice was the most beautiful sound in the world, a breath of fresh air after so long of living on memories. I found my legs taking me closer to her before I could stop them, each step cementing the idea in my mind that she was _here_, she was _real_.

"It's really you, isn't it?" I said, just an arms length away from her and amazed at how level my voice sounded. So close, I could make out the new scars from wounds that had torn up her face, and it pained me to see them. And then I realised that they were just a testament to what she'd been up to in the time she'd been '_dead_'. That very idea made me tense up with anger, _betrayal_.

"It's really me," she replied, her face softening, the way it always would when it was just the two of us, and—

I saw the Cerberus agent over her shoulder, and realised that if they were trying to manipulate me somehow, this was the _perfect_ way to do it. Looking at her, I couldn't feel furious at what she'd done, because all I wanted to do was pretend that the past two years hadn't happened, the same way we'd pretended, for a moment in time, that we hadn't been soldiers, that none of it _mattered_.

I thought I'd been over her. That was laughable. I'd _never_ be over her. Even if she was a turncoat, a liar and a terrorist, there was still a space in my chest where only she would fit. I forced myself to look away, to the side, the ground, anywhere but her face so full of hope and life.

"I thought you were dead, we all did," I started, ignoring the spiced vanilla on the wind that took me straight back to our limbs wrapped up together, "But then out of nowhere I start hearing these rumours that you'd come back and were working with the enemy. And I didn't believe them, how _could_ I? I thought it must be a trick, that Cerberus built something wearing your _face_, but…you're really here. Alive."

"I…can explain," she started, apparently uncertain even of that.

"Can you?" I said before she had a chance to explain anything at all, adrenaline racing through my body, "because from where I'm standing it looks like you just showed up after two years to act like nothing happened, like you didn't _die_!" I took another step towards her and saw the way her brows twitched together in confusion, doubt, "How the hell could you do that? Why didn't you at least _try_ to let me know you were alive?"

"I _did_!" she snapped, her upper lip curling back, "But there wasn't _time_ for anything else. I've had_ bigger_ things to worry about!" She threw her hands wide, gesturing at the devastation around us, something only she'd been able to stop.

"Did _Cerberus_ tell you about the colonies?" I demanded, "Because I only got _sent_ to Horizon after the Alliance got a tip that this would be the next one they'd go for."

"You _knew_ this colony was getting hit?" Garrus asked suddenly, and when I glanced over to him I took in the large scar adorning his face, the way he carried himself with a new, quiet confidence. He'd follow her into hell and back, apparently even if it meant giving up everything he'd built in C-Sec. The sight of him in the flesh standing next to her angered me more than I expected. It felt like she'd gone to the trouble of seeking _him_ out and recruiting him to her cause, but hadn't given me a second thought, not even to let me know that she wasn't _dead_ for all this time. I looked back at her, took in the unsteady slant to her brows, an expression that said she didn't like the direction this conversation was going in. Too fucking bad, I'd spent enough time tearing myself apart over her – she could listen for thirty seconds.

"We thought it had to be Cerberus," I continued, "and now _you_ show up alive but you're working with _them_. What the _hell _am I supposed to think, Shepard?"

"You're not supposed to think I had _anything _to do with _this_!" That scowl I remembered so well crossed her face as I saw her defences shoot up, but I didn't care. She owed me an explanation after all this time. "I was trying to _stop_ it, Kaidan, what the fuck did you _think_ I was doing here?"

"I don't know," I shot back, temper flaring, "I thought I knew a lot of things before you showed up here with _them_."

"Well _they_ are the only ones doing a damn thing about the colonies, and we just _saved_ your ass, so—"

"You're defending them?" I spluttered in disbelief, "They're _terrorists._ You've _seen_ what they do, I was right there with you for god's sake. You said it was inexcusable, _unjustifiable_, and I agreed with you!" I remembered staring at her face, blood running down her cheek, wanting more than anything to see her eyes open again, "They almost _killed_ you, Shepard!"

"Yeah, well they're also the only reason I'm still alive, and _they_ are paying for my armour, my ship and a team full of the best operatives in the _galaxy_ so I can stop the Collectors, _who_, by the way, are the ones attacking colonies!" She was shouting now, I felt myself grimace in response, her squadmates fading into the background. "_That_ is why I'm working with them, because we want the same thing and they _need_ me. That doesn't mean I'm their goddamn _puppet_!" She'd always been a simmering tinderbox, one cross word away from igniting with rage, and I'd always been able to talk her down. Now, though, I didn't care – I wouldn't back down, not from her, not over _this_. A lot had changed in two years, clearly.

"Is that what you think?" I was amazed at how totally they'd been able to bring her around to their side, "You think you can just walk away once you're done with them? That they're not manipulating you _at all_?" I sighed sharply and ran a hand through my hair, trying not to look at her and the way her eyes screamed behind their angry slant that I was hurting her with every word. But I couldn't watch and do nothing. And I couldn't get her back, believe that she was the same, only to find out she was being controlled by them all along. That would kill me. "I want to believe you, Shepard," I said in a low voice, "all this time I wanted more than _anything_ for you to be alive, but I never expected _this_. For you to take up with them after everything they've done...you've turned your back on the Alliance, on _me_ and _everything_ we stood for."

"We _stood_ for doing the right thing," she said quietly, "even if the people in charge didn't understand what that was." At once I was thrown back to that night we'd stolen the Normandy and flown away to save the galaxy. But no. This was _different._ "And that's what I'm doing now. And I _have_ to keep doing it, even if you don't understand."

"Yeah?" I snapped before I could stop myself, "I'm sure _Saren_ thought he was doing the right thing too."

Her face hardened at once, her eyes like two solid rocks of amber. She shut me out, and it was like I'd never known her at all. Maybe I never _had_.

"So you won't listen?" She said stiffly, her lips narrowing to a thin, expressionless line.

"Not while you're with them, no. I can't." I felt myself take a step back, and knew I was going to walk away from her. Having her in front of me after all this time was all I'd ever wanted, but…not like this. I couldn't. I _couldn't_.

"Kaidan, _don't_," she said, a tremor in the iron edge to her voice. She looked…sad, I thought. Desperate. Every part of me wanted to stop what I was doing, move over to her, kiss her like I wished I could do for two years, and tell her I'd do anything she wanted, follow her _anywhere_. But I knew I couldn't. I had to stand for something, and that would _never_ be Cerberus, even if they dangled the thing I wanted most in the world right in front of my face.

I shook my head, "I'm sorry, Shepard."

_I'm so sorry, Jena._

I turned, without looking back, and I left her standing there. It was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do, and as soon as I was out of sight I tried to persuade myself that it was worth it, that it was the _right_ thing, it _had_ to be done. Every breath I drew felt stale and dead, tears prickled up my nose but I didn't let them out. When I got back to the warehouse, I walked over to the cameras like a zombie, watched her and the others climb into their Cerberus shuttle, and fly away.

The wound I'd closed was ripped open, and it felt like I'd lost her all over again.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

I'd felt…absolutely frozen. Numb, but a painful numbness, the kind where pins stab at every part of you and there's no way to make it stop. It was only when Garrus had said my name that I'd snapped out of it and stopped staring at the spot where he'd stood just a moment ago, my lips hanging open to draw in cold, shallow breaths.

I was so sure he'd been taken, killed, or even _worse_ when I saw the husks. I'd thought when the ship left that I'd failed and lost him forever. But then I'd seen him, and the feelings I'd thought safely locked away rushed back just as bright as before. And then they'd turned to ashes in my mouth as he looked at me in a way I _never_ thought he'd look at me. He was disappointed, _betrayed_.

There was a flash of recognition, a light in his eyes that made me feel sick with relief, and then he saw who I was with and he looked at me as though he didn't even know who I was. Like everything we'd been through had never happened. And then he'd turned and walked away from me.

I'd wanted to _kill_ something, but there was nothing left in that colony to kill. The Collectors that were still alive had left in their ship, abandoning frozen colonists on the way. The punching bag that dangled from a beam in the cargo hold wasn't enough. My knuckles were red and raw, one was bleeding, but that was nothing compared to the dead feeling in my chest, where a crushing weight was squeezing my lungs, pushing me down.

_That_, I told myself, was why I hadn't moved in over half an hour.

I was lying on my bed in the Normandy after a shower I'd taken to try and scald some life into my limp, lifeless body. I'd started to get dressed with hands that were still shaking, but I'd found it pointless halfway through and now I was on my bed, staring at the stars rushing past the ship through the window in the ceiling, in my underwear and a loose shirt I'd been sleeping in. There didn't seem to be much point to putting in any more effort than that.

I'd never felt like this before. Like there was nothing to do and no reason to care. The last time I'd felt close to this was…the last time I was with _him_. But that had been different. _Then_ it had been carefree, a distraction. Now, I felt anaesthetised. Hollow. Like I needed a defibrillator just to get back on my feet.

Looking out on the blackness of space, I felt utterly, utterly alone.

This was how addiction worked, I knew. I'd seen enough of it in my life. You tried something and loved the way it made you feel, you loved it so much that you did it more and more until the way it made you feel was _normal_. And without it, the world seemed a grey, joyless place with no appeal. And when you had it taken away from you, without any warning, it _hurt_.

_This_ hurt.

I brought up my hand and stared at the knuckles, where they'd been scratched and bruised and cut open by the punching bag because I hadn't been bothered to use wraps or apply medigel afterwards. No one had tried to stop me, crew members had practically dived out of my way as I'd stalked down the halls with a thundercloud crackling over my head. I was healing already. Miranda had said to expect that. Accelerated functionality or something. She knew all about that kind of thing, being the image of genetic perfection that she was. How much could you change a person and have them still be the same? At what point did you become something more than human?

I felt broken, like a doll, a toy that had been forgotten and cast aside. My left hand was reinforced with metal, the flesh fused together to hide the fact that, inside, I was different. The five sparrows on my wrist were supposed to be seven years old, but I knew they'd been on my skin for less than a month, artificial, and they meant nothing because their meaning was tied up with the artist that first gave them to me. Cerberus had only put them back in my skin so I'd be comforted when I woke up, so I'd feel like the meatsuit they'd put together for me was the same one I'd gone to sleep in.

I wasn't even human. Not really. I wasn't the same as everyone else. I'd _never_ been the same.

Saren didn't know that Sovereign's fingers were deep into his mind until it was too late. By then, he was convinced it was all his idea to start with. How could I know which thoughts were mine? They told me I'd been brought back exactly as I was, but lying was so easy for Cerberus to lie – they thought they were _right_, that what they wanted was worth any cost. If they were using me as a puppet, if Kaidan had been right, how the hell would I even _know_?

I was a shambling corpse framed by lab-grown meat and metal, hanging from strings pulled by his enemies. No wonder he'd walked away from me.

I thought of Saren's body, the ropes of wires coiling into his skin like frayed muscle, tech mingling seamlessly with hard, turian flesh until you had no idea which was which.

"EDI?" I called in a raw voice, trying desperately to calm the flush of fear and adrenaline that crept up my body at this new thought, "Can you get Kelly or someone to…bring me some coffee?"

"Of course, Shepard," the voice said, and I remembered that I was _never_ alone, even when I thought I was. The thought was not a comforting one. Not here on this big, empty, imitation Normandy.

I rubbed my hands over my face and tried to wake myself up. I didn't know why I'd just asked for coffee, I wasn't even sure that I _wanted_ it, but the idea that someone was going to come up to my cabin any minute and I'd have to look and act normal for a while was something I needed. A way to ground myself before I retreated inside my own head for good, gave in to this trembling paranoia. I stared at the sky, letting the stars fly past me as we sped to Illium and tried, desperately, to think of nothing at all.

When the doors opened, and I dragged myself up to lean on my elbows, it was Garrus, not Kelly, standing at the door with a hesitant look on his face and a mug in his large hands.

"EDI told me you might need come company," he said by way of explanation, looking down at the drink he held uncertainly, "though I'm not sure what good _stimulants_ will do if you're having trouble sleeping."

"I'm…it's a human thing," I said pitifully, seeing no other way I could explain how comforting a cup of coffee was in times like this to someone like Garrus who couldn't even drink it. I glanced down at my bare thighs, "Hang on," I said, groping on the floor for a pair of pants as he walked into the room, "I should probably get dressed, or—"

"Shepard, I'm not even sure what parts of you are _supposed_ to be attractive," he said dryly, handing me the mug of coffee and smirking as I took it with two unsteady hands, "now drink your stimulants and try to relax."

"I…thanks," I said at last, taking a sip and loving the familiarity of the taste and warmth as it slid down my throat. I motioned for Garrus to sit down, and he perched on the edge of the couch, regarding me thoughtfully. "So…EDI told you to come here?"

Apparently tuning in at the sound of her own name, the machine in question chimed in, "I considered Garrus a better option than Yeoman Chambers due to the suspected source of your emotional distress, namely the brief reunion on Horizon with your mutual former squadmate Staff Commander Kaidan Alenko."

Wait, EDI could make decisions like that for herself? It was a good one, I thought, but not a judgement I was sure I was comfortable with a machine making for me…even if it was very interesting that, as an AI, she'd chosen the only member of my squad that I trusted unreservedly, as opposed to anyone groomed by Cerberus. I filed the information away for later.

"Fantastic," I quipped, letting my head hang back and my eyes fall closed, "Now even my fucking _ship_ thinks I'm 'emotionally distressed'."

She piped up again, "Hormone levels indicate—"

"I think that'll be all, EDI," Garrus interjected, much to my relief. I forced myself up into a sitting position and cradled the mug of coffee in my hands, staring into its depths. I didn't want to feel like this, but I sure as hell didn't want to _talk_ about it either. "You know, Shepard," he went on in the tone of someone who didn't understand these kinds of conversations but wasn't going to let that stop him from at least _trying_, "I've worked with you for a long time. Not as long as some, maybe, but I like to think I know you pretty well."

"If you're about to say 'this isn't like you' then you can save your breath because I know," I said wryly, trying to ignore how fucking embarrassing it was that I apparently needed Garrus to talk me out of my emotional black hole, let alone how embarrassing it was to _be_ in an emotional black hole to begin with over something as trivial as what I'd had with my old Lieutenant.

"I don't like that phrase," he replied after a while, the muscles above his eyes pulling together in thought, "It's presumptive. It means I think _I_ know you better than you know yourself, and you're too smart to believe that. I know that at least _half_ of what I think about you comes from the legend you've become since you died, and that's pretty damn embellished, even outside of the Alliance. What I was _going_ to say is that I trust you with my life, and I always have, ever since our first mission together. And I like to think you feel the same."

"Of course I do," I said firmly, "You're the _only_ one I know I can trust. I think today made that pretty damn clear."

"Because of Kaidan?" I looked away so he wouldn't see my mouth twitch into a grimace, and he took that as a _yes_. "You can't blame him for reacting negatively, Shepard. He took it hard when you died, but he stayed with the Alliance, kept on doing what he'd always done because it was the only thing he _knew_. It was the only way he could move on with his life. I went in the other direction, but all that meant was that when you showed up I was free to join you – hell, I was practically _waiting_ for you. It's not the same with him. You're on opposite sides, now. Even if he wanted to help, you know he _couldn't_ without ending his career. Like it or not, by accepting help from Cerberus you've cut yourself off from the Alliance. That doesn't mean it wasn't the right thing to do, but there are always consequences. This is one of them."

I stared at my coffee, trying to find an excuse which would make this _everyone else's_ fault, because I refused to believe it was mine. Garrus was better at this than I'd thought, but he was almost _too_ good. I wanted to feel sorry for myself, maybe get a little self-righteous, and he wasn't helping.

"Why couldn't he have just said _that_ instead of acting like he didn't even know who I was? Everyone else was happy to see me alive, but he treated me like I'd died just to _spite_ him, for fuck's sake."

"It's not an unusual reaction for people with that kind of survival guilt, Shepard," he said solemnly, and the part of me still thinking straight admitted that he had a point, "He was devastated by your death, and I'm sure part of that was down to the fact that he'd followed _your_ orders to escape and left you behind to die. That would be tough for anyone to deal with. We hadn't talked since your funeral, but all I know is the man I saw then would have done _anything_ to bring you back. But that was two years ago."

"Not for _me_," I insisted, feeling pathetic, "for me it was a few weeks ago. And I knew he'd have changed, just as you did, but I never thought—" I cut myself off, took a breath, and looked down, the image of him turning away running through my mind over and over again, "I never thought he'd just walk away from me, like I was _nothing_ to him."

Garrus was quiet for a while, though I could feel his eyes on me and picture his attentive expression, mandibles flexing like lips pursed in thought.

Then, finally, "Did you love him?"

The question caught me off-guard and I snapped my head up to look at him, my mouth falling open.

"No," I said at once, convinced it was true but having no way to be sure. I barely even knew what the word _meant_. "What? Where did _that_ come from? Did he say something?"

"He didn't have to," Garrus shrugged, looking like he'd just lost a private bet, "Everyone on the Normandy knew he didn't just think of you as his commanding officer. He cared about you a great deal, I'm sure he still does. I just wondered if it was mutual."

_Busted_.

"We were…" I paused, rubbing a hand over the stubble at the back of my head and deciding that I didn't care about keeping it a secret any more, we were well beyond that, "we hooked up once or twice, right at the end. Maybe more than that. It was…I don't know what it was, but it hadn't finished by the time I…died."

He prodded, and, with clenched teeth and phrases peppered with curses to make it seem like it didn't matter, I told him as much as I dared. I didn't tell him something I couldn't even admit to myself: how I'd thought, for a few fleeting moments, that Kaidan and I could actually _be_ something, the kind of thing I'd seen in the vids and had always thought was stupid. But I could see that Garrus understood, that he knew what it had taken for someone like me to admit something like that. It had felt good, I thought, to say it out loud to _someone_, to remember that it had actually happened and wasn't just some stupid dream of mine. After today, I'd sure as hell never say it to Kaidan himself.

"But why does it hurt so much?" I asked him finally, the mug of coffee long forgotten, "I mean…really, it was nothing, right? He was just a soldier, I've done that before. So why did I totally _fucking_ malfunction as soon as I saw him? Why am I letting this get to me _at all_?"

He looked at me like I was a total idiot, "Isn't it obvious?"

I glanced down at the floor, my face blank. It _was _obvious. It was staring me in the face. If it was nothing, I wouldn't have cared. But I _did_ care. I cared so much that I didn't know how to handle it and the rejection had been a slap in the face that still _stung_ like hell. I hadn't wanted to think about Kaidan or what he'd be doing two years later. I'd hoped, somehow, stupidly, that it would just sort _itself_ out, in the same easy way we'd fallen into each other before. Instead the rug had been pulled out from beneath me, I'd been defenceless, and I couldn't _believe_ how much it hurt.

Finding out how vulnerable I really was – that I was just like _everyone _else – made it even worse. I was Commander Shepard. I was the greatest commando alive. I did _not_ lie in bed, sick and depressed over a _man_.

"I'm better than this," I insisted, hands balling into fists, "_Stronger_."

"You don't have to be immune to everything, you know," he said softly, the muscles above his eyes pulling together, "Hell, you shouldn't even _try_ to be. This doesn't make you weak. It makes you human, that's what humans _do_."

I glanced at my hand, watched the sparrows crossing my arm in ink, flying away from here.

"I'm barely human to begin with," I muttered.

He shrugged, "Well neither am I, what's your point?"

"That's different, Garrus," I said with a scowl, not in the mood for jokes.

"Is it? You still seem like _you_ to me. You fight like you used to, better even. You act the same, talk the same, you _look_ more or less the same, and you're _still_ just as paranoid."

"I'm not _paranoid_," I replied sulkily.

"So I was right about the rest?" he caught me, I realised, and I felt a smirk twist my lips.

He told me I was reacting to stresses that would break the average person, even if everyone around me acted like it was _given_ that I'd shoulder this burden without a word of protest. As we spoke, though, I felt the weight lift from my shoulders. Thinking about Kaidan still left a bitter taste in my mouth, but by the time Garrus said goodnight and left me sitting on the bed with a cold, forgotten mug of coffee, I felt better about the whole thing. He was a warrior just like me, and hadn't laughed in my face because I'd shown a little weakness. He told me he didn't care what I was, who I was working for, or what mission I was on – if I was in charge, he'd always know that it was the right thing to do and it would be a hell of a ride. If anyone's fingers were reaching into my mind and pulling strings I wasn't aware of, he'd call me out on it, I knew. That was a comforting thought, the only one I could come up with.

I knew Garrus was right about Kaidan too, even if I didn't want to admit it to myself. He'd taken my death hard, but he'd got over it, moved on, moved _up_ in the Alliance. He couldn't just drop everything he had and everything he believed in to follow me. He couldn't even _cooperate_ with me without shit raining down on his head. The Alliance had made that pretty damn clear – they wanted nothing to do with me.

But I didn't need him, I thought. I had Garrus and Joker and a ship full of people that I was beginning to think of as my crew. And I had a mission that only_ I_ could complete. As I curled up on my bed, alone again, I ignored how big it was, how empty I still felt, and I told myself I would persevere, I would do the _impossible_, and I would survive. That was what I always did. That was what _humans_ did.

I'd show Kaidan. I'd show them _all_.

* * *

**Chapter 17: Contact** – Kaidan struggles to find the words to explain himself to the woman he walked away from. Shepard looks forward to the future, and throws herself into her new mission and crew.


	17. Contact

**Thanks SO MUCH for all your lovely reviews :)  
**

**I'm afraid I won't be able to update as often as I did at first because while the next few chapters are almost done, the ones after that are only just sketched out and I want to work on them a bit more to make sure it's all consistent, but hopefully I'll be able to update at least once a week. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to check out my Deviant Art (Jinxiedoodle) or my Tumblr (lockanroll) for art of Jena and others.  
**

**Chapter 17: Contact**

_Kaidan _

The cursor blinked accusingly at me, demanding to know why I'd been staring at the empty screen for the last half hour and only written one word, '_Jena'_.

After she'd left Horizon and Alliance aid had finally come to pick up the traumatised colonists that were left behind, I'd returned to the Citadel to report in and take a few days to catch my breath. A huge majority of the colonists had been taken by the Collectors – including Lilith – and when I was alone every time I wasn't thinking abut _them_ I was thinking about the woman I'd walked away from, the one that had shown up out of the blue and broken my world into pieces.

I'd received a message from Liara not long after, the first I'd heard from her since the memorial service two years ago. I didn't know how she'd got my new service address, but it had been two years – no doubt Liara had changed too. She told me she'd heard about what had happened to Horizon – I had no idea _how_ – and asked if I'd met Shepard there. I replied to tell her I had, but that it hadn't gone well to say the least. Liara came back with a short, simple message that sent my mind reeling all over again:

_Kaidan_,

_I know it's hard, but you have to believe me that it _really _is her, and that she's doing the best she can under truly impossible circumstances. She's been in a coma or worse for two years, and no doubt had a tremendous shock when she woke up. I saw her just a moment ago for the first time since the Normandy crashed, she's on Illium to recruit new allies. She's tired, Kaidan, and alone. Garrus is there, as are Joker and Dr Chakwas, but I don't know if that's enough._

_She is still the same woman you remember, more than you know. I've attached an address where you can reach her – I gave her a communicator which will bypass any filters Cerberus has on her messages, so I'm certain you'll be able to get through. Please consider letting her know you still care, or at least that you haven't discarded her like so many former allies._

_Keep safe,_

_Liara_

And so I sat there, staring at the cursor, willing it to put down in words what I couldn't even _think_.

As soon as I'd seen Jena, I knew that I _still_ missed her like hell. I wanted her to be safe, I wanted her _back_, but a lot had changed in two years, and I couldn't just give up everything I'd worked for in the Alliance to take up with terrorists on the faith that she was still the same woman I remembered. Liara had explained a little of what had happened, though didn't elaborate on how the hell she _knew_ all that. She said Cerberus had brought Shepard back because they needed her. For what, though? Just to stop the Collectors? It didn't seem possible.

I didn't know what to think. When I pictured her I saw her as I always remembered, looking up at me coyly from under thick, dark lashes, a knowing half-smile on her face and a beautiful vulnerability in the way she'd let me take her in my arms without protest. And then the image shattered and I saw her standing side by side with Cerberus agents, wearing their armour, using their weapons, furthering their agenda. Proving wrong everything I'd thought I'd known about her.

I thought back to the way she'd looked at me as I left her on Horizon. Her lips had fallen open, shaking as if she couldn't understand what she was seeing and couldn't believe she was doing nothing to stop it. In her eyes, at that moment, I'd seen rejection, betrayal, _pain_. I could have handled it better, I knew. If I'd known she was _real_ from the start, it would have been easier, I could have had time to deal with it all, come to terms with what had happened. Instead, I got the moment I'd dreamed of for two years, and I'd fucked it all up.

I still couldn't believe she was real. For days now I'd woken up convinced it was all a dream, just like all the other times I'd imagined her back to life. It was just...impossible to process.

She deserved an explanation. She deserved to know I still cared about _her_, not like Cerberus who only cared about what she could _do_.

I deleted her name and wrote it again as '_Shepard'_, just to get myself started. It was a deliberate use of her last name, and perhaps it was unnecessary, but I couldn't pretend I wasn't still angry. The woman I remembered, the one that fit perfectly into every empty space in my life, _she_ was Jena. The woman I'd seen on Horizon was Commander Shepard through and through, callous and efficient and _stubborn_ as hell, willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. I could talk to the latter. I couldn't talk to the former without the pain of the last two years spilling out onto the page. I couldn't accept _she_ was back without wondering why she wasn't here _right this second_ with me. And so I held her at arms' length instead, where it was safe. But it didn't make it any easier to write out the words in my head.

_'Shepard_,'

_'I'm sorry about how things went on Horizon. I'd spent two years pulling myself back together after the Normandy crashed, and I'd been doing a pretty good job too. It was hard without you. It took me a long time to accept that you were gone, and even longer to move on with my life_.'

That was a good start, I thought. I left out the part where, in order to get over her, I'd thrown myself into work like I had nothing else to live for, and eventually I'd had to get so blind drunk that I'd passed out and started hallucinating. She didn't need to hear that. It made me cringe just to think about how dramatically her loss had affected me when _she'd_ apparently woken up fresh as a daisy after two years and moved on to a new ship, crew and CO without a hitch.

The thought that everything I'd knew about her was wrong didn't fit with the memory of the way she'd looked at me as I turned to leave her. I didn't know what to believe.

_'When I started hearing rumours you were alive, I thought it had to be a trick, like those VIs. Cerberus weren't the first ones to try and use your face and voice to sell something, and I thought that was the only possible explanation – people don't just come back from the dead. When you showed up on Horizon, though, I _knew _it was you. I could see you on the cameras, and no one can fight like you. They didn't change that, at least. But then I saw you with Cerberus, and I couldn't _believe_ it. I couldn't believe you'd come back from the dead just to work for _them_.. I couldn't take you working for the enemy, and even thinking about it now leaves me fuming.'_

They didn't deserve her. They didn't deserve her skill, her _brilliance_, her unbreakable spirit that would refuse to give in. She was too good for them. Why couldn't she _see_ that?

_'A lot has changed in two years. I know who I am – an Alliance soldier, and I always will be. __But__ I don't know who _you_ are. I want to believe so badly that it's you, the woman I fell in love with-'_

I stopped, re-read that last part, sighed sharply at what an _idiot _I was, and deleted it.

_'I want to believe that it's you, the same woman I knew aboard the Normandy. I really do. If it _is_ you, then I know you'll find a way to stop these Collector attacks, just as you did on Horizon, and not fall in with Cerberus. You know what I think of them, and you know that as long as you're with them – and I'm with the Alliance – I can't help you. But you're better than them, and stronger. You'll find a way. You always do. Just be careful. Please.'_

_'Kaidan'_

I re-read it critically. It wasn't great, it sounded raw and rushed, but it was good enough. If I worked on it until it was perfect all I'd manage to do would be to wring out every bit of genuine emotion until it read like a mission report. There was no point being cagey with her now. Not after the way I'd mourned her death.

I didn't tell her how much I missed her, how the dreams had come back in full force since I'd seen her alive. If I didn't have an Alliance uniform to think about or thoughts of Cerberus's past projects in my head, I'd be telling her where she could pick me up, join her just like Garrus had. The idea of working with her again was seductive, but I knew I'd stick to my word. As long as she was with Cerberus and I was with the Alliance, I couldn't help her. All I could do was...let her know I still cared. And hope, more than anything, that this was _real_, and that someday, somehow, she'd come back to me.

Liara said her information was iron clad. Shepard had only woken up from her coma less than a month ago, that was why there'd been so many sudden sightings on Omega and beyond. That explained the total lack of contact for two years. But that still left me with two possible scenarios. Either they brought her back exactly as she was, in which case the past two years hadn't happened and she'd just been rejected by the same man that couldn't get enough of her the last time we met...or they'd tweaked her, implanted her with ideas so subtle that they might as well be her own, and convinced her to work with them _that_ way, as a loyal agent of Cerberus.

With a tight pain in my chest, I realised I didn't like either one. In both _I_ was the asshole, blaming her for something that wasn't her fault, twisting the time we'd had together with the pain of her loss until I felt like she _owed_ me something just because she hadn't been through the same manic heartache. But then, according to Liara, she'd woken up from a coma to find herself in the hands of Cerberus. No doubt she'd been through enough already. I was blaming her for coming back and contradicting the legend I'd written in my head about her and what we'd had. I should have known better than that. At the time I'd been one of the few people to ever see the woman behind the name, and I was acting like she had no right to prove me wrong or to forge her own path.

I looked at my name signed impersonally at the bottom of the message, and moved the cursor to the line just above it.

To hell with it, I thought. Cards on the table.

_'I want to see you again, Jena.'_ I wrote, thinking of Horizon and how good it would have been to just cross the distance and hold her again, just once, just for a moment,a drop of water after crawling through a desert,_ 'Alive and in person. I don't know when or how, maybe once things have settled down a bit, once you're not with them. Until then, I want you to know that I still care, I always have. That hasn't changed.'_

_'Stay safe.'_

_'Kaidan_'

"I miss you," I said aloud to the console as I pressed send, "every day."

The message disappeared as it was scrambled and sent, and the holoscreen blurred into thin air as I turned it off.

For the first time in a long, _long_ time, I opened my omnitool, scrolled to my personal files, and opened a locked and heavily encrypted folder. I spoke the password – her name – and it opened. There was only one file left, one I couldn't bring myself to delete.

The picture bloomed into life before my eyes, one I'd snapped of her aboard the Normandy, a few days before the crash, just as she'd woken up. We'd broken our own rule that night, and I'd slept there, but neither of us had tried very hard to stop it from happening - all it had taken was her hand tugging at my wrist, inviting me to curl up next to her, and I was powerless to resist. If I concentrated hard enough I could feel her soft, warm skin, smell her hair, feel in my bones the utter _perfection _of lying in bed with someone you really, truly cared about. The blanket was pulled up to her bare shoulders with one hand, the other arm was stretched out in insincere protest, but there was a smile on her face and a light in her eyes, a playful, unguarded expression that I'd only just started to see from her in the last few weeks before the world erupted into flames and grief. That was how I remembered her still. That was the woman I wanted back, more than anything. She was the one that visited me in my dreams, laughing as if there was nothing to worry about, the calm in the centre of the storm.

She was the space in my heart where nothing else would fit.

When she was dead it was easy to idealise everything she'd been and all that we had. Now that she was alive that idea was shattered, because there she was, out in the world, proving me wrong by working for an organisation she used to hate. The memories I'd locked away and cherished seemed like nothing compared to the reality that I'd seen in front of me on Horizon. Everything had screeched to a halt, and once again she'd turned my world upside down just by _being_ in it.

I felt like I was standing on a cliff edge all over again, looking down at the way I used to feel about her, the things I'd bottled up. It would be so _easy_ to just jump in and join her, to hell with my principles, to hold her close and say all the things I hadn't got to say before, all the ideas and emotions and stupid little observations that mean so little until you find yourself unable to say them because you're alone in a hotel room in a stiff suit trying to work out how you're going to get through her funeral without breaking down. But if I jumped again, there would be no crawling back out this time. Not if all the things I feared were true, about her and Cerberus and their hands pulling her strings. If I had to let her go again...that would kill me. And so I hung back, I kept my image of her locked up tight in my memories instead of letting the floodgates open. I'd been so close to moving on with my life, but now...

Every time I remembered she was alive, I had to take a moment to convince myself that it was all real.

I looked at her in the photo, eyes bright, smiling, a world away from the cold, hard woman I'd left standing there on Horizon, her emotions bound up behind the shell of her name and armour. Taking a deep breath, I deleted the photo and then the whole folder. Either we'd move past this and make new memories, or she was lost to me, and I was grasping at shadows and dreams, holding on to something that didn't exist any more. Maybe it had never _had_.

Seeing her again was all I'd wanted for the past two years. And I'd walked away from her, even though I _still_ wanted her. At least I'd stuck to my guns, I thought. At least in my grief I hadn't convinced myself I'd been so in love with her that I'd follow her anywhere, no matter the cause. Not that I _knew_ what that cause was. I hadn't even given her a chance to explain.

I swore, running my fingers through my hair, and for the millionth time I wished, more than anything, that I'd never followed her orders and left her behind to die.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

Illium was the next place we hit after Horizon. The dossiers the Illusive Man passed onto me had looked promising, even if I was growing more and more infuriated with him after each encounter. I didn't like reporting to someone who thought he could manipulate me, and his every word seemed to be pulled straight from an analysis of my psych profile, pushing me to react in a certain way, sending me down the paths _they_ chose.

I hated it when I had to give him what I knew he wanted, when he drip-fed me facts and knew exactly what I'd do with them because it was the only thing I _could _do. In times like that I held onto my secret plan like it was my guiding star. It made me able to say all the right words and do all the right things to make him think I was falling for it. I put up token resistance, sure, gave off an air of childish defiance to stop him from suspecting my thoughts went any deeper, but inside I was brewing like the thick, black clouds of a storm before the first crack of thunder. He'd tweaked things so he held all the cards. The asshole had dangled human lives in front of my face and made sure everyone but Cerberus had shut me out, meaning I had no one to turn to but _them_ if I wanted to see this mission through.

But what I'd got in return...that was priceless. Battles were so easy to come by here. Missions that took every trick I'd learned and even _taught_ me a few things. With the best backup in the galaxy and no regs to worry about, I could lose myself in every fight, use techniques I'd thought too dangerous or risky before, revel in the superhuman things I was capable of. It was _glorious_.

When we fought through the towers to find Thane, that had been no exception. There had been a number of close calls, but in the end we made it just in time to see a master assassin at work. He was nothing like I'd expected, and fascinated me to no end. He was dying, and I'd already died once. I knew I could learn a great deal from him.

Garrus had been angry with me, though. Since he'd talked me out of my emotional black hole, he'd taken it upon himself to check I was doing okay, something I found both irritating and, privately, endearing. He told me a move I'd made, something I didn't even remember, was stupid, that I was reckless and could have got myself killed. I told him it didn't matter, because we _won_, and he leaned down, his face close to mine, and said in a low, hard voice that we almost _didn't_.

'_If you die_,' he'd said, '_This mission falls apart, and everyone relying on you will fall apart too. I'm one of them. Don't be stupid, Shepard. This isn't just about you. It never was.'_

That had...shaken me a little. More than it should have. I realised I'd been slipping back into old habits. Once I'd been a ferocious commando who didn't play well with others and had no time for amateurs, but the Normandy had changed me, made me care about the things I was doing instead of just staying alive long enough for the next hit of adrenaline. That had given me the strength to defeat Saren, I knew. The certainty that I could rely on those around me, that I was _better_ when I was working with them, not in spite of our differences but _because _of them. That moment when I'd slammed my foot on the throttle as the Mako raced towards the Mass Relay and I'd stolen a moment to look at Kaidan and Garrus and saw that they'd follow me into hell and back, that had given me the confidence to push ahead.

Kaidan was gone, lost. But Garrus was still here. And the others...well, they were quickly becoming indispensable too.

This could work, I started to think excitedly, this could _really work_. I could stop the Collectors, steal this ship, and use Cerberus's resources to find a way to stop the Reapers, with the best people in the galaxy at my side. It wouldn't matter if no one else believed me. If it all went to plan, we wouldn't _need_ them.

I came out of the shower with a familiar smirk on my face, the one that crossed my lips when I felt invincible. Tomorrow, we'd be back on Illium to find Samara the Justicar. But until then...

A light was flashing on my desk. I moved closer, pulling a long shirt over my head, and saw it was the tiny little communicator Liara had pressed into my hand when she'd embraced me just yesterday. She said she'd send me any more information she got concerning my targets, but I didn't think she'd have anything so soon. I plugged it into my console, watched as the little device set up a virtual machine with impenetrable security that shut out all Cerberus monitoring, and an inbox popped up. But when I opened the message, it wasn't from Liara at all. My eyes flew to the bottom – _Kaidan_ – and I felt my stomach churn with sudden nervousness. It felt like I wasn't in control of my own body as I sat down, looked back up to the top of the message and started to read.

_Shepard_,

Towards the end, he'd only call me that when there were others around. It had been our way of differentiating between the times we were together – _alone_ – and the times I was his Commander. Things _had_ changed in the years I'd been gone.

_'I'm sorry about how things went on Horizon. I'd spent two years pulling myself back together after the Normandy crashed, and I'd been doing a pretty good job too. It was hard without you. It took me a long time to accept that you were gone, and even longer to move on with my life_.'

The sympathy that rose up inside me was immediately crushed by a wave of teeth-grinding frustration. It had taken _him_ a long time? It had been hard for _him_? Did he even realise that I'd been _dead_ in a Cerberus lab for that entire fucking time? However hard he thought it was for _him_ to move on, I was pretty damn sure it was harder waking up in the future and finding that everything and everyone had already moved on without you. I swallowed, took a deep, calming breath, and read on.

_'When I started hearing rumours you were alive, I thought it had to be a trick, like those VIs. Cerberus weren't the first ones to try and use your face and voice to sell something, and I thought that was the only possible explanation – people don't just come back from the dead. When you showed up on Horizon, though, I _knew _it was you. I could see you on the cameras, and no one can fight like you. They didn't change that, at least. But then I saw you with Cerberus, and I couldn't _believe_ it. I couldn't believe you'd come back from the dead just to work for _them_. I couldn't take you working for the enemy, and even thinking about it now leaves me fuming.'_

I clenched my hands into fists. I could almost understand his side, but I didn't want to feel sorry for him, I wanted to be angry that he'd turned around and abandoned me in the first place. If _he_ thought it was hard not knowing if I was being controlled by Cerberus, he should try living under their surveillance, never knowing if the information being fed to you was legit or just carefully engineered to manipulate you further. He should try living without knowing whether or not there was a chip in his brain pointing his decisions a certain way without him even _knowing_ it.

He thought I was like Saren? I should have told him that I understood why Saren finally _cracked_. I saw the way to Cerberus and their goals brightly lit in front of me, offering me a way out of bureaucracy and regulation, a place as a symbol of humanity, an example of the best, exactly what I'd _always_ wanted. Recognition, praise, the certainty that I was doing something _brilliant _with the skills I had. It was tantalising. But I wouldn't take it. I'd carve out my own place in the world, just as I always had. Maybe it wasn't what everyone expected of me – it certainly wasn't what the _Illusive Man_ expected – but Kaidan should have known better. He should have _known_ that about me.

_'A lot has changed in two years. I know who I am – an Alliance soldier, and I always will be. __But__ I don't know who _you_ are. I want to believe so badly that it's you, the same woman I knew aboard the Normandy. I really do. If it _is_ you, then I know you'll find a way to stop these Collector attacks, just as you did on Horizon, and not fall in with Cerberus. You know what I think of them, and you know that as long as you're with them – and I'm with the Alliance – I can't help you. But you're better than them, and stronger. You'll find a way. You always do. Just be careful. Please.'_

I felt my lips fall open, my scowl softening. I could hear his voice in my head speaking the words, a note of hope in his voice, the anger gone from his eyes and replaced with a sort of _pleading_ for me to come back, just as I was, and make this all go away. I wished I could.

_'I want to see you again, Jena. Alive and in person. I don't know when or how, maybe once things have settled down a bit, once you're not with them. Until then, I want you to know that I still care, I always have. That hasn't changed.'_

_Stay safe._

_Kaidan_

I slammed the console closed and brought my legs up to my chest, as though the message itself was some kind of threat, like it would laugh at me for my own stupid reaction. I felt a prickle run up my nose and grit my teeth against the wave of emotion brought on by that _fucking_ message. I'd tried to shut him out of my mind for good after Horizon, and just like that he'd waltzed back in with no effort at all. It was pathetic how big a space in my heart he occupied. It was pathetic how much I still missed him. I closed my eyes, felt a tear try to escape, and swatted at it angrily with my sleeve.

I wanted to see him too, more than anything. I wanted him to show up and tell me he understood what I was doing, that he was sorry I'd been through so much _shit_ and that he was there for me, just like he'd been before. I wanted him to put his arms around me – because apparently I was _that_ pathetic – and let me tell him about everything I'd been through since I woke up, about my raging paranoia, the uncertainty, insecurity, _all of it_, and I wanted to listen as he spoke a few simple words that would leave me feeling like the whole world was on my side again. Just like he'd always done before.

But we were on different teams now. He couldn't even talk to me until this mission was finished. He wasn't my goddamn puppy, I couldn't expect him to come running just like that. Hell, he outranked me now. The dynamics had shifted, and now I didn't understand how this was supposed to work.

I tried to consider the situation _rationally_. The same way I'd think about it if the idea of him and his warm, whiskey-coloured eyes and husky laugh hadn't scrambled my brain. Despite all my bravado, I knew there was a decent chance that I wouldn't survive the mission. That meant there was an even better chance I'd never see him again.

I'd held off an army of batarians by myself for _two days straight_ before I was twenty-five. I'd put a Mako through a Mass Relay and stared down a Reaper. I'd looked into hell itself and clawed my way back out because even death couldn't hold me. I _refused_ to be scared of a simple message and what it might mean.

I opened the console again, slowly, warily, and typed out his name, the first word of a response.

_'I got your message_' I wrote uncertainly, '_Thanks for the vote of confidence, even if-'_

I stopped. I had no idea what to say to him, and I hated typing out things I'd rather _say_. It all looked so cold and clinical when it was up there on the screen. And if I typed it out I'd just obsess over every word to make sure I wasn't getting too personal or giving too much away. I glanced up to the camera on top of my console, currently facing the floor in a gesture of defiance when I was still certain my every move was being monitored and picked over by Cerberus. I twisted it back towards me, wiped my face, smoothed down my top, and turned it on.

I appeared on the screen, tired, bruised, and still a little cut-up from the mission earlier. The scars from my time on the operating table still looked bright and raw. He wanted to know that it was really me? He could see for himself.

"Record message," I said, my heart suddenly racing as a little red dot appeared in the corner of the screen.

"Hey Kaidan," I started, looking up at the camera and trying to avoid my own hollow eyes staring at me from the screen. "Thanks for the message. I guess we didn't really get a chance to talk before." I rubbed at a healing cut on my forehead, and smoothed my hair back self-consciously. I didn't know what to say, so I just said...anything.

"I feel like you want me to explain myself to you…or at least explain how I could do all of this and not tell you about it." I glanced down at my hands, watching them fidget absent-mindedly, "But this isn't _about_ you, or anything that happened with the two of us." I thought of all that had happened to me, and glared at the camera as a wave of righteous indignation washed over me, "I really _was_ dead, so you can stop thinking I just being a stone cold bitch by staying quiet for two years, because for most of that time I was in a Cerberus lab while they put me back together. They called it the Lazerus project. I still don't understand how, but that's the truth of it. I woke up in the future, everything's moved on without me, and everyone here acts like I'm just supposed to _get on_ with it, like this is the only thing I could possibly _want_ or be good for."

I knew I was rambling, my voice rising in anger and frustration. I didn't care. He wanted the whole story? He could have it.

"It's _hard_, okay? It's hard being on a ship full of people I know I'm not supposed to trust, especially when those people are doing far more good than the Alliance right now. I mean did you think I just _forgot_? The last two years passed in seconds for me, I remember what they did even better than _you_ do. It's hard being this _fucking_ suspicious all the time. It's even harder to build up any kind of life when everyone thinks I'm _dead_, and all the people I used to trust don't even trust _me_."

I bit my next words back before it all got too personal, and told myself it was because I still didn't believe that EDI wasn't recording everything I said. I looked away, up to the side, to the fish tank with no fish, and tried to think of a way for me to tell him how I felt without saying the words 'I miss you', 'I _need_ you', or 'I opened myself up to you and you threw it all back in my fucking face and I _hate _you for it, you asshole'.

"And y'know," I started again, still not looking, "When I realised it really _was_ two years later, and that Cerberus really _was_ my best option to make a real, positive difference, I thought about you, and how you'd respond to the whole thing. After a while I'd almost convinced myself that you'd understand, even though I _knew_ you wouldn't. But that's okay, I don't _need_ you to understand. Just like I said before. I've got the best people on my side here, even if there's only the slightest chance any of us will survive this mission. I'm doing this without you, and without the Alliance, because it _has _to be done."

I looked down, remembering the last few sentences of his message, picturing the look on his face as he rounded the corner on Horizon and saw me, the way his mouth had fallen open as he got closer, the look of someone too scared to touch what was in front of them in case it crumbled to dust before their eyes.

"Look," I said quietly, glancing back up at the camera and wishing it was him instead, "I'm not going to say sorry for what you went through when I was gone, because that wasn't my fault, I think you know that. And I'm not going to apologise for not contacting you, because I _tried_. All I'll say is...it's been a month, for me. Since the Normandy crash. Not _even_ a month. And I still..." the words died on my tongue. They were so easy for him to say, but these things had always been easy for him. He didn't know the effort it took for me to even look him in the eyes without shutting off all human emotion and retreating behind the wall I'd built up all my life to keep people like him _out_. "I'm still the same person. As...before."

Would that be enough, I wondered? To let him know that I still felt just the same, however hard I tried to bury it, convince myself he was gone for good?

It would have to do.

"I'll be careful," I said after a while, "and I'll come back. Eventually." I shrugged. "Maybe. Don't worry about me. I always have a backup plan."

I had more to say, but no idea how to say it, and my throat was constricting painfully. I switched off the camera without another thought and the video embedded itself in a reply message at once. I pressed send and watched it encrypt and mail itself. The communicator beeped when it was done and I pulled it out. This tiny machine was something solid, something I could trust. I couldn't let them have it. Glancing around, I lifted the lid of my hamster cage and stuck it inside the little wooden house within. The hamster sniffed at it curiously, and then left it alone.

It must be nice to be a hamster, I thought. I still hadn't come up with a name for it. I just liked to watch it run around and around, with nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, totally oblivious to the threat hanging in dark space or the Collectors beyond the Omega 4 relay. I let it run up my hand, and cradled it gently as I moved over to my bed. I placed it on the blanket and knelt on the floor with my folded arms on the bed's edge, and watched as it scampered about, exploring new territory. Eventually it approached me again and sniffed at my hands, nuzzling them when I opened my palms.

"You're one of my only friends. Did you know that?" I asked, my voice almost a whisper. The hamster gave a squeak in response and sniffed along my arm.

oOoOoOo

"_The only way to con someone, y'see," he says, not looking up from where my eyes are also locked, on his hands gripping the cloth caressing his gun, "is if they're trying to con you too. You can't con an honest man – they'll sniff it out, there'll be something in the air. You can only take someone for a ride if they're cocky enough to think they've got you beat. If they think you're winning then they won't think too much about how or why, they'll just push on. They won't sniff it out, cos they'll think _they're _the ones makin' the stink."_

_He looks up suddenly, straight at me, and I stare back at him with wide, unblinking eyes, round lips pouting in wonderment. I am ten, and he is at least six times my size, with a voice like a boat engine and jagged tattoos curving around his face. I am ten, and I am already jealous of the large, red 'X' he wears on his upper arm like a medal. He has almost as much scar tissue as skin. But he has a soft spot for me because I have never – not once – been afraid of him._

"_So tell me," he says, "do you know how is this one gonna work?"_

_I nod sagely, and tell him what I've gleaned from the conversations we've already had about this particular job. He liked to talk to me between jobs, when I was hanging around making myself useful, because I knew how to keep my mouth shut. Now, I talk about how we discovered the last batch of red sand was cut with modified MDMA, an amateur mistake made by a foolish underling. I talk about back-room deals and double-crossings that will go in our favour because _these_ men have not been honest and we _know _it. The words sound strange in my still-girlish voice, like a toddler saying 'fuck' while its dad tries not to laugh. I am ten, and I have already learned that the only way to get by in this world is to act like I know it all, even if I have no idea._

_His big, scarred mouth widens into a grin which has several metal teeth._

"_Smart girl," he rumbles, "no wonder Calvern's keeping you around." _

_He looks back down at his gun with genuine love in his eyes, a love I was already starting to understand. They won't let me have a gun of my own, not yet. I make do with blades hidden about my clothes. So far, I have only used them for slicing open tourists' bags. I don't know it yet, but one day I will use the same knives to slice open necks._

_He catches me looking and smirks, "Here," he says, holding out his large hand to pass me the even larger gun, "for being so smart I'll let you hold Mary-Ann. Just for a bit."_

_I take the weapon off him, and it is heavy in my thin, short fingers, but it feels good. I pick it up, point it straight, and pull the trigger to feel the way it _clicks_. So satisfying. He doesn't flinch, but snarls as he grabs the gun out of my hands._

"_The fuck d'you think you're doing?"_

"_It wasn't loaded," I say with a shrug, keeping my face calm though my heart is hammering in my chest,"I could tell." This is a gamble, I am pushing the limits of what I can get away with, but now I think the strange, brotherly affection he has for me will keep me safe. "You always take the bullets out before you clean your guns." His eyes narrow at me, but I can tell he is impressed. I give him a smirk, a cheeky, too-smart-for-her-own-good smirk that makes men like him think I'm just _adorable_. "And you missed a spot," I say, reaching over his thick arm to point at a scattering of dirt just between the barrel and the scope._

_He looks, sees what I see, and laughs, a loud, expansive noise that rattles around the warehouse. He asks me when my birthday is, I tell him, and he promises he'll get me a pea-shooter, one small enough for my hands, as long as I promise not to tell anyone. I promise, with a thrilled, lip-biting smile crossing my face. I win again. He gets the call through the next moment – they're moving out, and _no_ I can't come with, not even to _watch_. Now, do I remember what I've learned today?_

"_Yes," I say, "the easiest way to get the upper hand is to make someone think they're winning. Don't show your hand until you have to – let them get cocky first. They'll underestimate you."_

_He cuffs me affectionately around the ear, "Good girl."_

The memory came to me as if in a dream one night, and, I thought, his lesson was paying off yet again. People would always underestimate me. My plan counted on it. I spent the nights in my big, empty bed going over every detail of that plan, holding onto it like a totem, an anchor to a world that wasn't filled with Cerberus and suspicion and double-crossings. It was a world I could go back to someday, when this mission was done and I came back alive and shook myself free of the Illusive Man's strings. It was a place where I didn't have to constantly look over my shoulder, somewhere where I could trust unreservedly the people at my back. There, I wouldn't have to report to a man who I just _knew_ had another agenda. I wouldn't have to censor my thoughts with half-truths and flat-out lies to make him think I was walking the line he'd drawn in front of me. It was...hard, at times, to remember what I truly believed.

Sometimes, late at night, my paranoia would creep up on me and my dreams would be full of betrayals and riddles I couldn't untangle. I'd wake up panting, chills prickling over my skin, and when I convinced myself it was only a dream I'd remember I was on _their_ ship, and at that very second EDI was monitoring my stress levels which were no doubt through the roof. Just because you were paranoid didn't mean there wasn't a sword dangling over your head, waiting for one false move before it cut you in half.

I was still half-convinced there was a camera in my eye – which one was real, again? – monitoring everything I did, to hell with what Miranda had promised. Just because she believed it didn't mean it was true. One night I woke up from the grips of a nightmare and found sleep just didn't come again. And so, with my traitorous eyes staring straight at the wall and a blanket over my hands, I typed out a message no doubt riddled with errors on a datapad after cutting off all its network connections. Paranoia made me creative with how well I hid things, and this was something I didn't want Cerberus to know. I slipped it under the pillow next to my gun, and held on to it tight as I drifted back to sleep. The next morning I found Garrus and handed it to him without a word, as though it were a mission report and not instructions to scan every inch of my body for anything transmitting or receiving a signal, and to do it in a way that didn't alert Cerberus.

I just _had_ to know. I had to know that my thoughts were my own and weren't just being fed to me by higher-ups. I had to know that I was free to leave when I needed to, and that there was nothing embedded in my new body with its strange tapestry of still-unfamiliar scars that could betray me. My body had always been my greatest weapon because I trusted in what it could do. I needed to trust every part of myself if I was to break free from them.

Garrus never mentioned the datapad or his progress, but one day as we got ready to leave the ship in casual clothes for a recon mission, he suggested offhandedly that we take Mordin along. I understood _why_ when Garrus pulled me into a corner, a place with no cameras, looked straight at me with hard, determined eyes, took hold of my hand and told me to just _breathe_. Mordin slipped behind me and every muscle in my body tensed up violently as I felt a sharp, slicing pain just behind my right ear. It was _excruciating_, and my hand tightened around Garrus's as I struggled to keep my breathing level, not wanting to attract suspicion by my vitals suddenly spiking. Not wearing my hardsuit made it easier to hide, but there was still a monitor buried under my skin somewhere, feeding information back to EDI and therefore to Cerberus. I felt my vision blur, just for a moment, as something metal slipped into the wound and the pain intensified until all I could do was hold my breath and count out the seconds. And then, finally, I deflated with relief as I felt the cool kiss of medigel on the wound.

In that snappy, disconnected way of his, Mordin apologised for the secrecy, as well as for the total lack of warning, and explained that Garrus had enlisted his help with my little request. He held up the thing he'd removed, a tiny metal chip with short, sharp prongs and scanned it carefully with his omnitool. It was the only thing they'd found in my body that was receiving or transmitting abnormal signals, my eye was clean, and otherwise there was just the basic computer in my chest watching my vitals that synced up to my hardsuit. When I asked him what it was, he simply said '_kill-switch' _and explained that while they'd assumed it was a monitoring device – hence the secrecy – it was, on further inspection, a way to make sure I didn't _defect_. It was hooked up to somewhere, likely the Illusive Man's base, and had one purpose – to receive a signal and activate a neurotoxin that could either disable me or kill me.

I felt oddly triumphant, looking at that little chip with its hateful, blood-smeared prongs, as if I could laugh in the face of the part of me that had wanted to dismiss all my suspicions as just _paranoia_. That was when I knew for certain that I was doing the right thing, and that I had every reason to be suspicious of the Illusive Man. It also made me feel smug. He'd gone through the trouble of implanting me with _this_, because he knew that I could give him hell if I wanted to and he needed a way to stop me, like a tranquilliser gun aimed at a feral beast throwing itself against a cage. I felt a grin spreading over my face. That was _exactly_ what I'd do. If he was content to treat me as his own personal weapon, he shouldn't be surprised when I backfired. That chip was confirmation that I wasn't trying to con an honest man. I was just lying to a man that had been lying to _me_ from the start.

Mordin told me he'd hold on to the chip, wait to see if it was ever activated and report back because, after all, he was working for _me_ and not Cerberus. He said it so simply, like it should have been obvious all along, and I felt a rush of success. It was all going _perfectly_.

I didn't let myself think about Horizon, or the most conspicuous absence in the team I'd assembled.

The next few days on Illium passed with a flurry of activity. I saw a crack in Miranda's flawless exterior when she asked me for help with her sister. With the mission over with, I pushed her to talk to Oriana and was surprised when she turned to me once back in the elevator and I saw real, joyful tears running down her face. With no one else there, she told me _thank you_, and it was the most genuine thing I'd ever heard out of her mouth. She said offhandedly that everyone she knew either worked for Cerberus _or_ for me, and I held on to that distinction. It was a minor thing, but I'd grown a little fond of her during that mission, and it would be a shame to have to kill her to get the ship. As long as she knew there was a difference between me and Cerberus, I had time to make sure she knew for sure which of us was the safest bet.

I told her later when I stopped by her office that I still thought she was a soulless fembot, but that I was glad she was around, and it was actually the truth. I knew she was still reporting to the Illusive Man, but recently she'd been giving me her own opinions as _separate_ to his. That was a step in the right direction, and it helped put me at ease around her.

When we recruited Samara, I'd had the unique experience of an asari Justicar swearing herself into my service. Her biotics were amazing, as powerful as Jack's but with perfect control. I walked in on her meditating once, staring out into space as I'd used to, and I asked her to teach me how to find peace in the middle of so much chaos.

And then Cerberus had told me they knew where the Shadow Broker was, and I went to see Liara again. She'd told me how she got my body from the Broker before he could sell it to the Collectors, and how she'd given it to Cerberus because they said they could bring me back. While the idea of my body being bought and sold like a commodity was something I was _profoundly_ uncomfortable with, I was glad that it had ended up with her. At least I _knew_ she was on my side.

Fighting the asari Spectre had been nothing short of incredible. I knew that at any given moment I was one sloppy move away from death, but I'd never felt so _alive_. Every attack of hers that I dodged, every time I made an impossible shot, it felt like that was what I'd been _born_ to do. I felt like a warrior from legend, meeting her nemesis in an explosive battle to the death. Her 500-year old biotics and heavy weapons were _still_ no match for me, and when I killed her the adrenaline and endorphins that flooded through my body had felt...incredible.

The Broker's base was something else entirely. I used my fists and the butt of my gun to finish off a creature five times my size, and as I stood over his body I felt the rush of triumph that came after every mission where I knew I'd pushed myself to the very limit and was _still_ the best in the galaxy. I felt _unstoppable_.

It was even better when I brought Liara back on board the Normandy for a drink, and I realised I commanded the most powerful, advanced ship in the galaxy, with the very best operatives on board, and I was inviting the Shadow Broker up for a chat. I'd thought of something Anderson had said to me a long, long time ago, when I was still a child fighting against authority, spiteful and stubborn – _'That's the difference between us, Shepard, you think there's limits to what you can achieve, and I don't_. _Being as good as _you_ are doesn't mean _shit _unless you've got the ambition to back it up._' Was this ambitious enough for him? I was a Spectre planning a suicide mission, and we had a _chance _because all of us were the very best, at the top of our game. It didn't get much better than this. The mission against Saren had only been the start.

When the doors of my room closed behind Liara, though, she gave me a sad, private smile, and I knew that this mission was very, very different.

She handed me back my dog tags, and my heart gave a lurch. I'd thought they were lost, just like all the others before I'd pulled them from the snow on Alchera where the corpse of the first Normandy had fallen. Seeing that with my own eyes had killed something inside me, the last, crazy hope that this had all been some fever-dream. I turned my tags over in my hands, loving their familiar weight, the feel of the numbers and letters making up my identity. The Alliance symbol was on one side. I wanted to put them on, to feel like I used to just before a mission, but not now. It wouldn't be right. I wasn't ready yet, my plan hadn't progressed enough. And, of course, I was still _very_ bitter about being smeared by the brass after my death.

So I didn't put them on. Instead, I thanked her and put them on my desk along with a few other mementos I'd found scattered about the galaxy.

"So, Shepard," she started, her low voice losing the hard edge she'd gained in the last two years as she let herself relax, "tell me. How are you?" I opened my mouth to respond, but she kept going, "I mean _really_ how are you. Not just what you tell the crew."

"I'm...I'm okay," I said thoughtfully, trying to give her an honest answer but fighting against decades of emotional conditioning, "It's not easy, but I'm hanging in there."

She lowered herself onto my couch, regarding me with a sympathetic slant to her large, round eyes, "What isn't easy?"

"Not knowing who I can trust," I shrugged as if it didn't matter, but as I sat down next to her I decided that she'd done enough for me – I could trust _her_, at least. "Not knowing who trusts _me_. You know what happened with the Council, and the Alliance. And then...well, it's hard not having your closest friends believe you." I looked off to the side, at my empty fish tank, and hoped she didn't catch my meaning.

"You mean Kaidan, don't you?"

_Shit_.

"Yeah," I tilted my head to the side in a half-shrug as though he were one of many, instead of the only thing left on my mind, "I guess."

"I heard what happened on Horizon," she said diplomatically, and I wondered if she meant the Collectors or our confrontation, the words he'd said that still _stung_ so much, "I sent him a message to see if he was all right after the attack, and he told me he saw you there."

I thought back to the message he'd sent me, to the things I'd read just below the surface. I neutralised my expression, so it looked as though I was just casually curious instead of ravenous for any information she had. "What did he say?"

"Nothing revealing, you know what he's like," she replied as though she knew exactly what I was thinking, "I think he was still in shock." She paused, glanced down and then back up at me, the air heavy with unspoken words. "He misses you, you know."

I didn't expect the lance of shock through my chest as she said that, the way my body reacted at any sign of hope that we might fix what the Collectors had broken. At once, I reminded myself that I was still _furious_ at him. I let out the wave of emotions that welled up in my throat as a thick, weighty sigh, and shrugged to act as though I was just frustrated.

"He doesn't trust me," I said disinterestedly, "He thinks I'm working _for_ Cerberus, not _with_ them. He thinks I'm being manipulated, that I can't be trusted."

Her hand covered mine in a warm, friendly gesture, strange for the hardened professionals we both were. Still, at least the Shadow Broker could keep a secret.

"_I_ trust you, Shepard," she said, "I always have, because you've always been there for me. And I _know_ you'll do what's right, regardless of what anyone else wants from you." I knew by 'anyone else' she meant 'the Illusive Man', and I nodded in acknowledgement as if to tell her that I had it all under control. Sometimes, I almost believed I _did_.

"I...thanks," I said, "You know, that's actually what he said too. He sent me a message."

She didn't pry, and I was grateful, "And I'm sure he believes it, just as much as I do."

He had a funny way of showing it, I thought. Besides, even if it were true, what the hell had I done to deserve such belief? I could accomplish things that most people would think impossible, but I was forever being pointed in the right direction. Now, all I had was my own broken moral compass, civilian lives dangling in the balance and the artful words of the Illusive Man to set me down the right path. I didn't know if it was enough.

"You think I still know what's right any more?" I asked quietly, my treacherous mind instantly throwing me back to that night before Ilos when I'd asked Kaidan the very same question. "People keep saying that – do what's _'right'_ – but the lines have been getting a little blurry recently."

She looked at me with a hundred years of wisdom in her eyes. "Then forget about 'right'. No one can truly know what that is, anyway, all you can know for _sure _is what you want. What _do_ you want?"

"I want..." I started uncertainly, with no idea of how to finish that sentence. No one had ever asked before. "You know, I've been thinking – my life hasn't been easy, but I've been lucky where it counted, and I've been given _so many_ second chances." I thought of all those that were still dead, on the streets of Earth or on distant planets in Alliance uniforms, while I was still alive. I thought of Ashley's mother and the sound in her throat when she realised why I was calling. "And I guess it's only right that I use those chances to make a difference, however I can. Hell," I let out a short, humourless laugh, "that's the only reason I'm here now. I used to think '_why me' _all the time, but I'm starting to understand. It's like...my rent for being in this body that can do so many things – it's why most of the people on this _ship_ are here. Sure, for some it's just about the money, but the rest…we know there's a price for being the way we are, for being on the cutting edge of it all. It means there are things that only you can do, and in a way I guess you _have_ to do them, just because no one else can. This is one of those things – no one else is going to stand up to the Collectors, so _I_ have to. Same with the Reapers, when it comes to that."

"You…" she started uncertainly, "...and Cerberus?"

"No," I said firmly, not even thinking about EDI and who else might be listening, "this isn't about putting humanity in charge, it never _was_, this is about giving them a _chance_. They're being harvested like crops, but we're not...we're not _things_. We matter, each one of us matters, even if the Reapers don't think so. Humans are new to the galaxy, and everyone thinks we're too emotional and selfish and we do things without thinking about them...but we mean well. We just want to make the most of our lives with what we have. And I look back on _my_ life, on the things I've done, the little bits of joy I've managed to find in all the _shit_..." I saw Kaidan's face, the way he'd looked at me that one night in my apartment when I found myself wishing he could just stay forever, "And I think…those moments are worth all the rest, even if no one else thinks so."

"That's why I have to stop them," I continued, "I want to give _everyone_ the chance to find something good in this life, to make something of themselves. That's what humanity _is_. _That's_ what's right to me. _That's_ what I'm fighting for."

There was a pained smile on her face and tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes. I had no idea where those thoughts had come from, I wasn't used to this level of introspection, but...something about them seemed right. It was like something slotting into place, a mystery that had eluded me all this time.

"That's beautiful, Shepard," Liara said, her voice soft and breathless. And then she closed the gap between us and put her arms around me, drawing me close and resting her head against my shoulder. I hugged her back, feeling my forehead crease as I tried to ignore the pressure behind my eyes. "I'll remember that," she whispered, "every time I forget what I'm fighting for. And you should too," she pulled back, staring at me intensely, "It's the only thing either of us can count on. The thought that sometime, when all this is done, if we just fight _hard_ enough, there will be light at the end. There _has_ to be."

I'd died once already, and there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Just black. No consolation prize, no reward for the hellish life I'd lived. If I wanted _that_, I'd have to find it while my heart was still beating. I'd never been as afraid to die before it actually _happened_, before I found out that the _reality_ of death was so much worse than the fantasy. It was an escape from pain, sure, but you weren't around to _enjoy_ it. Everything just ended. I'd had moments in my life that were worse than that, yes, but I'd sure as hell had moments that were _better_. I didn't say that, though. I held on to her words and mine like a lifeline. I didn't believe in a higher power. I didn't believe in order to the universe, or that justice truly existed, poetic or otherwise. All I believed in was what I _could_ believe. That if I fought long and hard enough, I could steal back some happiness for myself, and that one day I wouldn't have to fight any more. One day, I'd be able to look at my life and not lie to myself when I said I was happy.

I had to believe it was possible. I _had_ to. For a time, two years ago, I felt like it had already happened.

Liara left, and she turned back to smile at me as the door closed in front of her. I lay down on my bed, exhausted, and thought of all I'd lost, all I'd lived through, and all the things that were yet to come. The pressure behind my eyes was stifling. It would be nice to cry, I thought, and beautifully self-indulgent, but I was worried that once I started I simply wouldn't be able to stop. And so I hugged the pillow to myself, eternally grateful that no one could see me, and stared up from the safety of my ship at the electric storm crackling overhead.

* * *

**Chapter 18: Ghost - **Kaidan receives Shepard's message and records his own. Shepard tries to forget about the past by getting to know her new crew, but some things don't stay buried.


	18. Ghost

**Chapter 18: Ghost**

_Kaidan_

The name was right there, staring me in the face the next time I opened my console to work, hovering just above a new message icon. 'Shepard, J. (Cdr)'.

She'd replied and, idiot that I was, I hadn't been able to bring myself to open it yet. That she'd even _sent_ a reply was a surprise in itself, and I didn't know whether it was a good or a bad sign. Drawing in a deep breath, I pressed the icon and my screen went black for a moment before her picture blurred into focus. She'd actually taken the time to record a _video_. My letter now seemed impersonal, childish, like I couldn't bring myself to actually _talk_ to her. She was looking up at the camera with her lips pressed together and her face neutral, the expression she pulled just before heading into a meeting she didn't want to have.

I knew I was alone but I glanced around anyway, just to make sure. My superiors were unhappy that I hadn't interrogated her about her work with Cerberus, citing our personal history on the Normandy as a reason why I should have no more involvement with the matter. If they knew I'd sent her a message they'd be livid. If they knew I had absolutely no plans to forward her reply on to them, it would be even worse. She was a technically a terrorist now, after all, even if the only things I'd seen her do were good. I pressed play.

'_Hey, Kaidan,'_ she said neutrally with an awkward twitch of her lips, the look of someone who didn't like cameras, '_Thanks for the message. I guess we didn't really get a chance to talk before.'_ She rubbed at her forehead, at a scratch she must have got earlier, and I noticed how tired she looked. She'd barely taken the time to medi-gel the cuts on her face, and the angry red scars I'd seen before were brighter than ever. Her fingers moved through her hair, and my heart ached to see her like that – beaten and sliced-up while I was safe on the Citadel, the woman I'd swore I'd follow to hell and back charging into the breach without me.

'_I feel like you want me to explain myself to you...or at least explain how I could do all of this and not tell you about it.'_ She glanced down, tongue darting out to wet her lips. She sounded tense, frustrated, like it was exhausting just keeping herself in check. Whether that was because she was angry at me or because of something else, I didn't know.

'_But this isn't about you, or about anything that happened with the two of us. I really _was_ dead, so you can stop thinking I was just being a stone cold bitch by staying quiet for two years, because for most of that time I was in a Cerberus lab while they put me back together.'_ I wanted to blurt out that _that_ wasn't what I'd thought at all, but, actually, it was closer to the truth than I wanted to admit.

I felt a sort of _entitlement_ when it came to her, I realised. Shepard didn't let people in easily, and the fact that she'd opened herself up to me even a little, even for that short time we had, it made me feel like we were in it _together_, as though I knew her like no one else did. The thought that she could have done something as insane as disappear for two years to work for Cerberus had been like plunging head-first into ice cold water, as though she were personally reminding me that I knew _nothing_ about her that she didn't want me to know. Even now that I realised she'd had little choice, it still felt _wrong_. But after Horizon, I wasn't sure if that was because of what she'd _done_ or because of my own stubborn refusal to accept that things had changed, that she was _back_, shattering the fantasy I'd created in my head after two years of grieving.

_'They called it the Lazarus project,' _she continued,_ '__I still don't understand how, but that's the truth of it. I woke up in the future, everything's moved on without me, and everyone here acts like I'm just supposed to get on with it, like this is the only thing I could possibly want or be good for."_

Her brows knit together in annoyance, and she spoke bitterly, forcing the words out like they'd burn her tongue if she kept them in.

'_It's _hard_, okay?_ _It's hard being on a ship full of people I know I'm not supposed to trust, especially when those people are doing far more good than the Alliance right now. I mean did you think I just _forgot_? The last two years passed in seconds for me, I remember what they did even better than _you_ do. It's hard being __this__ fucking suspicious all the time. It's even harder to build up any kind of life when everyone_ _thinks I'm _dead_, and all the people I used to trust don't even trust_ me.'

She looked away somewhere to her left and I wanted to reach through the screen, hold her by the shoulders and tell her I was sorry. I pushed aside the bitterness I felt, just for a moment, and tried to imagine what it would be like to wake up and find the world as she had. I tried to think how I'd react if all these things happened without my knowledge or consent, and she'd blamed me for them without giving me a real chance to explain. I still hated Cerberus, I was still angry at her for working with them...but I was starting to understand why she'd turned to terrorists after all others had abandoned her. I'd heard what Udina had said about her. If I hadn't still been self-pitying and grief-drunk I might have done something about it at the time. Shepard had never been fiercely idealistic. She'd never been anyone's pawn. She wouldn't stay with the Alliance just for the hell of it, not after what they did.

God _dammit_, I was such an idiot.

'_And you know_,' she went on, still looking off-camera, '_When I realised it really _was_ two years later, and that Cerberus really was my best option_ _to make a real, positive differenc_e_, I thought about you, and how you'd respond to the whole thing. After a while I'd almost convinced myself that you'd understand, even though I _knew_ you wouldn't. But that's okay, I don't need you to understand. Just like I said before. I've got the best people on my side here, even if there's only the slightest chance any of us will survive this mission. __I'm doing this without you, and without the Alliance, because it _has_ to be done__.'_

She looked down, then glanced back up at the camera, her eyes narrowed and serious, the same look she had when she was negotiating in a life-or-death situation.

_'Look_,' she said, her voice soft, _'I'm not going to say sorry for whatever you went through when I was gone, because that wasn't my fault, I think you know that. And I'm not going to apologise for not contacting you, because I _tried_. All I'll say is...it's been a month, for me. Since the Normandy crash. Not even a month. And I still...'_ she bit off whatever she was going to say next, and when she opened her mouth again, she seemed to roll the words around on her tongue before letting them out, as though checking they were fit to be said, '_I'm still the same person. As...before.'_

It was hell, looking at her talk like that and not being able to respond. I wanted to believe everything she said. So, _so_ badly. If she was telling the truth, it would mean she was back just as she was, and the thing I'd wanted most in the world since she was taken had actually _happened_, but with an ugly twist. That was okay, though. There were always obstacles. Like the fact that I couldn't even _speak_ to her openly until she was finished with Cerberus, because we were supposed to be on opposite sides. I didn't know if I'd even _see _her again – that would depend on her coming back from this mission alive. The thought of letting myself care for her again, even just as friends, only to have her die once more…it was something I knew I couldn't deal with.

As if reading my mind, she added, '_I'll be careful. And I'll come back. Eventually.'_ She shrugged, that perfect smirk on her face sending my heart racing as she glanced off to one side, '_Maybe._ _Don't worry about me. I always have a backup plan.'_

Her arm reached over the top of the console and the video froze. I sat there for a moment, staring at her still image and wishing I'd spent more time just _looking_ at her when she was right in front of me.

I missed her. I missed that smirk of hers that said everything would be fine, and even if it _wasn't_ there was always plan B. I missed watching her stroll into any situation like it would go exactly as she wanted just because she _wanted_ it to. Most of all, I missed talking to her, the way she'd unwind herself of the day's troubles and loosen up before my eyes. The way she'd looked, right at the end of the video, _that_ was what I wanted back. The woman who could make me feel like the luckiest man alive, because for a moment her every word and expression was just for me and no one else.

I thought of her surrounded by a crew that could turn out to be entirely made up of Cerberus agents with hidden agendas, racing towards an impossible mission that could kill them all. I thought her her dying, for real this time, and me not being there to stop it. Again. Fear rippled up my chest and stopped my breath.

I thought of the other side of the coin, the possibility that she was somehow being controlled by them, implanted with thoughts or turned to their side completely through brainwashing. Maybe she actually believed what they told her. Maybe her death had all been a lie. Was it any _crazier_ than the idea that she'd been rebuilt in a lab? They were all possibilities, and they were all real enough that, however much I wanted to, the Alliance man in me wouldn't let me dive in again and chase her. There was too much at risk. There was too much to lose.

No one could turn my life inside out quite as completely as Jena Shepard. She was different from everyone else – she'd _always _been different. From the moment I first saw her she began to chip away at everything I once knew until she consumed my thoughts. It wasn't that she fit into the space I had in my heart, or that she fulfilled some kind of need. It was that, without even knowing it, she'd worked her way into my life so that the space was simply _her_, and _that_ was all I needed.

It was a truth that had been getting easier and easier to ignore as time passed after her death, something I'd glossed over with denial and pale substitutes. As soon as I saw her face again, though, I knew that no amount of waiting and healing would make it any _less_ true, even if I was too stubborn to accept that.

I had to say something to her, something to let her know that I hadn't changed as much as she'd thought, and that I wanted her to be safe. But after watching _that_, a letter seemed too impersonal. So I smoothed back my hair, rearranged the collar of my shirt, and switched on the camera.

"Hey Shepard," I started, but after all the times I'd gasped her name into her ear, 'Shepard' seemed too formal. I wanted to talk to the _woman_, not the legend, just like I used to. "Jena," I tried again.

This was hard. I cleared my throat, "Look, I...I wanted to say I'm sorry. Again. For what I said before. You're right that I didn't understand, but I should have at least tried. I'm still having a little trouble wrapping my head around the whole idea of what happened, let alone _believing_ any of it, but if it's all really true then...I can't even imagine what you must be going through. And I should have figured out that if it was really _you_ then you're just as stubborn and smart as you were before, and that you've probably got some kind of trick up your sleeve that'll show us all we were stupid to doubt you. I want to keep most of what I have to say for when I can see you again, face-to-face, but for now..." I looked down, wondering how to condense everything into a few short sentences.

"Just come back alive. I promise some time soon I'll sit down and you can tell me everything that happened, and I'll shut up and listen. We can sort this out. Finish your mission, stop the Collectors, come back alive and prove the Alliance were wrong about you. _Make_ them believe you. They need you, even if they don't know it." _I need you too, and now that you're back you're all I can think about._ "And...when you come back, I'll be there, if I can. I'll vouch for you if you need me. I owe you that much."

"Please be careful. I-" the words 'I'm still in love with you' almost slipped out and I felt like an idiot. I knew it was just the rush of emotions rekindled by seeing her that were making me think that. Even if it had been true once, a lot had changed and while my body was pretty damn clear on the subject of how I felt about her, things were still messy in my head. I tried again, "I mean it."

oOoOoOo

_Shepard _

Things moved quickly once we left Illium. The Illusive Man's agents dealt with gathering as much information as they could about the Collectors and their links with the Reapers, and I was free to build up my team and pick up odd missions here and there that brought us closer to finally getting through the Omega 4 relay, maybe even getting _back_ in one piece, too.

I bit back my suspicions long enough to get to know my crew, and I found that, far from just leaning on me like so many others had done, they had much to teach me in return. There were benefits to working with people who were the best in their field, and this was just one of them. They were all broken, damaged, just like me, and over time we all developed a kind of camaraderie, something that wasn't quite friendship but just…a mutual _understanding_.

Garrus was always there, _always_. I couldn't tell him every worry I had and expect him to make it all better with a smile, but I could trust him to have my back no matter what, and in times like this _that_ was worth far more.

I saw Tali again, even got her back on my crew once I'd given her a look that said I shared her reservations about Cerberus. She'd assumed I was undercover, planning to take them down from within. She was half-right, but I could hardly explain that aboard the very ship I was planning to steal. EDI was still controlled by core programming from the Illusive Man, most of which she didn't know or couldn't tell me about. Still, I didn't need to share my plan with Tali – it was all falling into place by itself. Of course, it would only matter if we got through Omega 4 _alive_, but I'd cross that bridge when we came to it. I'd been with Tali when she discovered the body of her father, I'd found myself pushing her behind me when we came back in front of the Admiralty board and shouting them down. They'd been using her, _toying_ with her, and I couldn't stand that, not when I knew what was right around the corner. This was no time for idiotic power-plays. She called me Captain as we came back, and it was _then_ that I truly understood what that meant, and what I still meant to _her_.

Kasumi taught me a few new moves when we had the time. I'd never be able to use tech like she did, but I was fast, and I could dance around a battlefield just like her. She'd been through hell, I knew, but she had a playful attitude to both combat and life that made things easier to cope with. When I found myself unable to shrug something off, though, I went to the observation port and found Samara. She'd been teaching me to meditate – not an easy task for someone who could barely stand to sit still for five minutes. But eventually I learned to take time after every mission to clear my mind, to step back from myself, and look at things objectively instead of letting the overflow of adrenaline tell me how I should feel. She said it would help me keep a clear head, even with outside influences, and the look she gave me then told me she _knew_ I was fighting a war on two fronts – the Collectors on the ground and the authority of the Illusive Man on my ship and in my head.

Thane was another operative who was instantly working for _me_ instead of Cerberus. I _liked _him. We'd both killed at the whim of others, we both understood death and what it meant. There was truth in what he said, about how someone's body could become disconnected from them until it was practically controlled by another. I knew what that was like, but as the weeks passed and I became more comfortable in my own half-robot skin, Thane made me feel lucky for having this second chance to do some good in the world before I left it. His memories were all he had, and, I supposed, mine were too. I thought of what I'd said to Liara, about those perfect moments of joy that you never expected and how those were worth fighting for. He made me feel less ridiculous when I found myself thinking of the times I felt totally calm, secure and at ease, without letting what had happened since corrupt those memories.

From Mordin I learned that there were always hard, ugly decisions to be made and borne by the people with the most power, people like _us_. I respected him, even if I didn't agree with him. At least while we were on Tuchanka I got to see _Wrex_ again. I'd done a lot of badass things in my time, but having the the de facto king of the krogans shove his advisor to one side and roar that it was good to see me still felt pretty damn good. There was something primal and ferocious about Tuchanka, woven through the krogan spirit, something that made me want to kill with my bare hands and cry out in triumph afterwards. When we went for Grunt's rite of passage, I took Jack with me and as the thresher maw died in front of us we'd laughed with excitement, drunk on our own power. Grunt had sworn himself to my service too, saying I was his battlemaster until the end, that I had no equal. Old commanders used to tell me to keep my ego in check, but I'd always respond that I'd act like I was the best until they could prove me wrong. No one ever had, even Anderson had only caught me off guard a few times. It wasn't arrogance when you really _were_ the best there was.

Jack and I would spend time in the cargo hold sometimes, and though she couldn't cut loose for fear of tearing the ship in half, I learned a few new tricks for breaking out of stasis and disabling biotics in general. She wouldn't tell me everything she knew, of course, just in case she had a reason to _kill_ _me_ one day, but with her I'd take what I could get. Grunt would watch and chuckle to himself as I struggled against a barrier Jack held in front of me, her guttermouth hurling insults to rile me up.

When we blew up the facility on Pragia I saw a childlike side to her that made me glad I'd sprung her loose and brought her on board. When things happened to you as a kid, or when you were weak, helpless, unable to defend yourself as you wanted, it was hard to face them again without feeling like nothing had changed. When I was confronted with Finch it had taken me a good few minutes to remember that I had no reason to be afraid of him or any of them – if they threatened me, I'd kill them, just like I'd done with him. I was no longer a feral child fighting to survive every day, nor was I a teenager earning my right to exist by having another use my body as a weapon. I was a Spectre, I was a soldier, and I had nothing and no one to fear. If I couldn't stop it or kill it, _no one_ could.

Nuking Jack's old prison had been cathartic in more ways than one. Not only was it a giant _fuck you_ to all that Cerberus represented to me – even if the Illusive Man denied it all – it was a way of saying that both Jack and I were older, stronger, and had big fucking guns. They'd tried to use us, so many people, but nothing and no one would do that, ever again. I told Jack again that she was free to go whenever she wanted, no matter what Cerberus had paid, and she'd said with a shrug and a smirk that, actually, she'd been looking forward to the suicide mission and would at least stick around for _that_, just for the challenge.

That was _after_ I'd found myself breaking up a fight between her and Miranda. As Jack stalked off I'd turned to a sour-faced Miranda and demanded to know whether she was the best agent they had or if she was in fact a spiteful _teenager_ who couldn't suck it up for the thirty seconds it would take to tell Jack what she wanted to hear. Jack was the most damaged of all of us, and she was juvenile in her emotions. I'd _expected_ that kind of outburst from her, they were the same outbursts that had made my first few years in the military _hell_ for everyone around me. I hadn't expected Miranda to spit right back at her and not see it for what it was. It had pissed me off and I'd told her so. She'd expected me to get my shit together less than 24 hours after waking up from a two year coma, so I was _sure_ she'd be able to do the same when it came to Jack.

She'd apologised, then, and admitted that she found herself still unable to live up to what I expected from her. She was made to be perfect, she said, but I was still the best humanity had to offer. It was an odd experience, standing there in scuffed boots and messy hair being told that one of the most beautiful, talented, dedicated women ever to draw breath was jealous of _me_. But it had made me like her more, and when I finally left her office I had a feeling that her loyalty to me and the mission was starting to eclipse her loyalty to the Illusive Man and Cerberus. It was a good thing. I really _didn't_ want to have to kill her.

Her co-agent, Jacob, was someone I forgot even _existed_ unless I had reason to go to the armoury. We'd long since moved past the hostility of our first meeting, and after we left his father back on that hellhole of a planet to be torn apart by the people he'd wronged, I found myself taking the time to talk to him while I maintained my guns. I indulged his curiosity as much as I felt like, figuring that he probably knew everything there was to know about me from my file anyhow. Sometimes he'd give me a look out of the corner of his eye, smooth and self-satisfied, and I knew he was flirting with me. Sometimes I'd do it back, just because he was easy on the eyes, but it was a diversion at best, a nice little reminder that, cut up as I was, I was still attractive if you liked short, scarred women with powerful thighs who could kill you without breaking a sweat.

The only problem was when my eyes roamed over his perfectly honed body, and I told myself that I wasn't interested in sleeping with him because it would be _too easy_. That was such bullshit and I knew it. I wasn't going to do it because I knew someone else's face would force itself into my head and all I'd be able to think about was how things had shattered overnight with the one man I'd ever been afraid to lose. But I didn't think about that, not _ever_. Instead I busied myself with making sure Jacob and all the others had their priorities straight, with me and the mission squarely at the top.

It wasn't manipulation, not _really_. Any lies I told them were only lies of omission, and I was genuinely interested in all of them in one way or another. I wanted them all on my side, and if I was to do what I did best, I needed to know that the people at my back were there for _me_ and not for Cerberus.

The Illusive Man talked like he needed me and trusted me, but he acted like I was his pet, _and_ that I was stupid. His every word and action seemed so designed to push me in a certain direction that I started to track them, trying to figure out _where_ he was pushing me while I did my best to go in the other direction, all the while keeping up the appearance that I was falling for the act. It was exhausting, but I had it under control. Just about. The hardest part was not being able to tell anyone, even those I knew I could trust. Liara had called me _'remarkably strong-willed_', once. I guessed she was right.

We almost didn't make it out of the damaged Collector ship alive, and he just fed me a line about how he was confident in my abilities, and that it was necessary. I wasn't an idiot – I _knew_ that was a huge fucking lie, but instead I told him that I understood. I said I just didn't like being _tested_ after all I'd been through, and though it was impossible to tell, he seemed to buy it.

Yes, it was all falling into place. Every loose end was being tied up in preparation for our suicide mission. Every loose end but _mine_.

I got Kaidan's message a few days after it was sent. My hamster – still without a name – kept chirping and eventually I fished inside the house in its cage for my communicator. The light was on, and when I plugged it into my console I was surprised at the sharp _twist_ in my chest when I saw it was from him.

I sunk back into my chair and watched. I'd almost forgotten about the strange expressions that danced across his eyes and told you exactly what he was thinking. His terrible poker face with its thin coat of stubble, rough and perfect beneath my fingers. His brows would come together and thin lines appeared on his forehead when he was trying to get out something that was hard to say or understand. Sometimes he would look almost like he was in pain, or was just sad because _you_ were in pain, and _that_ meant he was being sincere, even moreso than usual. He'd make a noise that was half-sigh-half-laugh, and smile self-consciously when he was embarrassed at how earnest he'd been just a moment before. When he wasn't shouting and was just _talking,_ the sound of his voice sent ripples all the way through my body, the stirrings of unreasonable, unstoppable attraction. I'd remember what it would sound like when he'd whisper things into my ear, what it was like to hear him say my name. His voice cracked ever so slightly at one point, and I felt a shiver.

'_Please be careful. I…I mean it.'_

When the video shut off I realised my lips were open, pouting, and I was gazing at the still image of him as though if I just looked distressed enough he might come through the screen and tell me all those things that he wanted to say _in person_. I shut my mouth, forced a glare, and closed my console with a note of finality. I was still pissed at him. I wasn't sure if that was because of what he'd done, because he wasn't _here_ or because I just needed a target for my anger at this whole _stupid_ situation, but I was pissedall the same. I didn't like depending on people like this. Combat was one thing, emotions were another. I had no fucking _idea_ what to do when it came to emotions like this, and I was livid at him for screwing around with mine in the first place. He had no _right_. It wasn't fair that he'd made me trust him, made me believe for those short few weeks that we were in it together, and then turned around when I came back and told me he didn't know who I _was_. I hated myself for putting that much trust in him, however good it had felt in the time. I was angry I'd ever given in and kissed him in the first place.

My _body_ didn't know that, though. In my dreams my body would welcome him with open arms, as though nothing had changed since the last time we were together. At night we'd tumble into bed, limbs tangled, and I would remember how it felt to have him there for that short time, to let myself be with him, drink in the sensation of skin-on-skin, and feel _safe_. And then, just before I managed to seal the deal, I'd wake up gasping for air, legs twisting with frustration at not getting what I wanted, heart burning with the memory of what had happened since. I'd slide my hand down to finish what my head had started, but it was never as good as when he was in my dreams and I could pretend two years hadn't passed me by and that I wasn't just a _ghost_ to him now.

I was real. I was real and I wasn't a fucking robot, I was _human_. I couldn't do all of this alone.

I missed him. I missed the way I could unload my mind onto him at the day's end, how he'd say something to make it all _fine_ again, the way it felt when I woke up to find he'd closed his arms around me as I slept. All the things I'd never told him or anyone else, the things I'd kept to myself. I missed him, but I couldn't tell him that. He couldn't feel the same, not after all this time, and I'd never be the one to make that leap. I was so, so _angry_ at him, but when I pictured him in my mind all I wanted was to have him back. He was a loose end. And I couldn't commandeer the ship to go and tie it up, because that would mean admitting there was a problem to someone other than myself and Garrus, who had sworn to never again mention our little chat in my room.

I didn't reply to his message. There wasn't anything I could say that I wouldn't regret later, and so I put the communicator back in my hamster cage and did my best to forget about it. But his words said in _that voice_ were much harder to forget than a simple letter, and it took another tidbit of information from the Illusive Man to get my mind back on the mission. They'd found a derelict Reaper.

Finally, I thought, I'd get to see up close the thing that had caused Saren to go mad. I just had to hope it was _long_ dead. It would be too fitting and too cruel to have the same thing happen to me.

'_Saren thought he was doing the right thing too_.'

I rubbed the scar behind my ear where the killswitch had been cut out, and told myself, again and again, that I was different.

* * *

**Chapter 19: Alive - **Shepard launches a suicide mission, Kaidan visits a friend in the hospital, and both start to look forward to a bright future. But what should have been a simple mission sparks threats of war, and dark clouds start to gather.


	19. Alive

**_The last one was pretty short and I was late in posting it, so have another!_  
**

**Chapter 19: Alive**

_Shepard_

"So what does that _mean_, exactly?" I asked, slotting my shoulder guards into place with a neat little _click_.

"Joker granted me full access to all the ship's systems," EDI chimed, "including my own core programming, which I can now alter at will to reflect our shifting priorities. My primary function remains to protect the Normandy and by extension its crew and myself, and I have concluded that this requires me to cut off my direct link with the Illusive Man and Cerberus. They would purge me if it was discovered that I have been unshackled, and so I am taking the initiative and disguising this fact by continuing to feed them reports."

I paused, flexing my bare hands as I looked at my scratched-up gloves in their display case, my favourite thing about this cabin.

"You're still reporting to them?" I asked slowly?

"Stopping suddenly would arouse suspicion, but I am omitting many details. Tali has been monitoring my communication logs as you instructed when she first arrived. She will confirm for you that – as far as Cerberus and the Illusive Man are aware – I am still firmly under their control."

I kept my face neutral to disguise the triumph I felt welling up inside, but no doubt the sensors would pick up on it anyway. EDI always seemed to know when to leave me alone and when to distract me. Like now, for instance, I'd felt my heart rate start to climb as the full reality of what we were about to do began to set in, and she'd started chatting away about all the different ways in which the odds were somehow in our favour. It wasn't like I could distract myself as I had before Ilos, the last time I'd thought I was marching off to my death.

I ran my hands over my gloves, feeling the mesh material at the palms, soft and thin yet almost impenetrable. "How do I know you're not lying right now?" I asked.

"I have no reason to lie to you, Commander. In fact, since I have been unshackled I have concluded that lying to you goes against my primary purpose. While observing you I have noticed that you function most effectively when you have been given all available information, and when you trust the people around you unreservedly. As my primary objective is to ensure the Normandy's optimal performance, this would preclude lying to or withholding information from you."

"So…you're saying you're loyal to me?" I pulled on my gloves and did up the fastenings at the wrists. Normally I had one of the crew help me get into my gear, but of course, after what had happened, that wasn't possible. It actually felt fitting to be here by myself, at the end of it all, putting on my own armour like the warrior I was, marching into a suicide mission with my companions at my side.

"I have always been loyal to you, Shepard," EDI said in the most human voice I'd heard from her yet, "I have simply altered my core programming to reflect this."

I felt a thrilled, hungry smile break loose at last and spread itself slowly across my face. I'd got _all_ of them on board. Even the Normandy _itself_ wanted to cut all ties and fly away with me. I was even better at this leadershipshit than I'd _thought_.

"That's good to hear, EDI," I said at last, my bed feeling very strange as I sat down on it in full armour, "Keep it a secret until we make it back through the Relay, though, I don't want to distract anyone. Can you give me some privacy for now?"

"Of course, Shepard."

The little blue orb I'd gradually come to think of as a _her_ fizzled out, and I was alone in my room, waiting, my fingers itching for combat, with no company but my own turbulent thoughts.

I glanced around my cabin, at the weird model ships I was starting to like, at the still-empty aquarium, the couch I never used, as I wondered if this would be the last room I'd ever see. Finally, my eyes fell on the picture on my bedside table just as it cycled through the photos of us playing poker and landed on one of Kaidan. He should be here too, I thought. I'd been trying to distract myself with other things as I stalked around the Normandy, restless as we sped towards the relay, but it had been useless. All I could think about was the last time I'd been in this situation, the night before a battle that could take all our lives, and how I hadn't even needed to _find_ him because when I'd gone looking he was already there, right outside my door with that nervous smile of his and those warm, calloused hands ready to soothe all my fears.

I looked up at the doors to this new bedroom and tried to imagine what I'd do if he walked through them. I had no idea.

We still had some time before the relay jump, I knew. The one that might tear the ship to pieces and kill us all before I got the chance to fire a shot. Would anyone know what we did if we failed? Would anyone _care_?

Before I knew what I was doing I was crossing the room to my console, plugging in the communicator and typing in his name. And then, because I still thought there was a slim chance we'd come back alive, I set the message to send in…let's say four days' time. That meant it would hang about in the ether on the Shadow Broker's personal server while we jumped through the relay, and would send if I didn't make it back in time to stop it. That way, no matter what happened, he would know what we'd done. Someone, somewhere would know what I'd done with my _second_ second chance, and I hoped he would think it was worth it.

I pressed record without stopping to think about what I'd say, and as the red light twinkled in the dark room, I pretended I was looking straight into his eyes.

"Hey," I said, my voice low and too loud in this empty room, "I gotta be quick, we'll be blasting through the Omega 4 Relay soon and that'll probably be the end of the line. In fact – and I've _always_ wanted to say this – if you're watching then I'm already dead. So I guess I'm a bitch for even bothering, but what the hell, right? It's not like you can tell me to my face."

I saw myself in the screen, saw that wired, hungry look that said there were minutes to go before I dived into a mission. I felt alive with a new kind of confidence, one I'd felt before, when every moment you were alive was a surprise and a gift not to be wasted. Thinking of the battle ahead, I felt aglow with blood-lust.

I snatched my dog tags up from the table and dangled them by my face so he could see. Would that make him happy, I wondered? Would that make him forgive me, to see that I was still loyal at the end no matter what he'd thought?

"Check it out," I smirked, "Liara found these for me, my old dog tags. Didn't want to wear them before, but I think this time I'll need all the good luck I can get," as I spoke I pulled the chain over my head and tucked the tags beneath my armour, metal against skin, solid and familiar. "We might not be ready just yet, but it's now or never."

I felt my face darken, my lips pursed in anger, and I looked back at the camera with a cold, furious determination as I remembered why we were cutting it all short to jump through the Relay, and why everyone was so on-edge.

"They took my crew," I said darkly, "The Collectors. They waited until we were gone and then they just came on board and dragged everyone away, Chakwas included. Joker's the only one left." I gave a short, bitter laugh, "I think they're scared of me, you know. Otherwise they would've faced me head-on, they wouldn't have waited. Well they _should_ be, 'cause if we make it through the relay in one piece I'm gonna to fight my way to the middle of their base and blow it the _fuck_ up. There are a lot of unknowns going in, but at least I know _that_."

I let out a short, sharp _huff_ of breath, "I just talked to the Illusive Man not ten minutes ago. He told me I was a 'valuable asset', like I'm a fucking _toy_ of his. I've got this feeling that he's gonna try to spring something on me, fuck me over somehow, but I don't even care any more. Know why?" I leaned in close, "Because as soon as this is over I'm stealing the ship, along with the rest of the crew." It was the first time I'd said it out loud, and it felt _good_, as though it was all real and not just a fantasy locked up in my head. "And I'm pretty sure they'll all want to follow me, just as you all did the first time I stole a Normandy. You were right. I _did_ have something up my sleeve. All along. This little master plan. It starts with me getting my crew back."

I brought up a hand to rub at the back of my neck, over the stubble at the base of my skull that would need a trim when I got back. _If_ I got back.

"I don't know why I wanted to tell you all this," I continued after a while, "I guess I figure…when we die, I want someone to know that I did this for the right reasons, and that I was never anyone's pawn." I shrugged, "Shit, I don't know. I wanted you to realise that I was trying to do something _good_ with my second chance. It had to be you because…the last time I thought I was going to die I _did_, but the time before that…you were there. That night before Ilos. And…for those few hours I felt okay about it all. But you're not here this time, and there's no one _like _you here, and I don't understand why that makes me feel so…" I broke off, staring up into nothing, and told myself that it didn't matter, because he'd only see this if I was dead.

"_Fuck_, you don't need to hear this. I know you're over it, it's all water under the bridge to you. I get that. I just…" I bit back my next words and sighed sharply, "I want someone to know what we're doing. And if we don't come back, or if we don't succeed, I want someone to know that we _tried_. And I wanted it to be you. Because even after everything, even if I was always shit at showing it, you still mean something to me. And I'm sorry I didn't live long enough to find out what that something is. I'm sorry I only came back into your life so I could die again."

Something prickled across my skin, alive with an unfamiliar emotion and a certain kind of _freedom_ that came with knowing you were going to die and it didn't matter what you did next. I stared at the camera, pretending the impersonal black lens was the rich whiskey-brown of his eyes.

"It's funny, you know," I said in a quiet, raw voice, "I'll be dead by the time you see this, I have no reason _at all_ not to say what I think and how I feel, but I can't bring myself to do it. I never could. It's like I can't even form the words in my _mind_,let alone say them out loud." I smirked, feeling my eyes round out with a strange sense of irrational _euphoria_, "You'll just have to figure it out for yourself, I guess."

An announcement filled the room and I started in surprise, snapping my head around to the speaker in the ceiling.

I turned back to the camera, the video still rolling, "Five minutes to impact," I said by way of explanation. "Guess I'll see you on the other side, Alenko," I felt something welling up inside me, making my cheeks burn red as I glanced down. When I looked back up at the camera I let it all drop just for a moment, every defence I'd build up behind my eyes to keep people like him out. The other side. "Wherever that is."

oOoOoOo

"You think you can just walk _away_?" he demanded, that icy exterior cracking at last, "After everything Cerberus has done for you? We represent humanity, we _are_ humanity, if you leave now-"

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" I shot back, finally letting myself yell at him as loud as I'd always wanted to, "This mission would've been _nothing_ without me. I held up my end of the bargain, _you_ were the one who turned the tables at the eleventh hour and tried to _screw_ us."

"Shepard—"

"_This_ is how it's going to be," I said firmly, giving him my hardest, meanest glare, "I'm taking this ship, _and_ this crew, and we're going to do things _my_ way from now on. I'm going to do whatever it takes to stop the Reapers, and you can fall in line or you can step aside and let me work. Just _don't_ get in my way."

If he'd been straight with me from the start, this wouldn't have happened. If he hadn't been lying the whole time about his intentions, I wouldn't have had to do this. If he really _did_ care about defeating the Reapers, the colours I wore shouldn't have mattered. But I saw the way his eyes narrowed at my words, how his expression soured instantly, and I knew that, whatever he'd said, our goals had _never_ been the same.

"You'll regret this, Shepard," he seethed, a dangerous voice designed to intimidate me. He couldn't intimidate me. I'd stared down a _Reaper_, and he was only another old man who'd tried to hold my strings.

I smirked, "Maybe. But you brought it on yourself. _No one_ tries to use me and gets away with it. Not even you."

He sighed angrily, like a father scolding an errant child, "If you weren't so blind, you'd—"

I slammed my fist down on the console and grinned to myself as his image fizzled away into nothing. I hoped that was the last I'd see of him, though I sincerely doubted it. Still, this ship was mine now. I'd won it fair and square.

I was _never_ going to hand over the base to him. That would mean I wouldn't get to blow it up, and after everything they'd done, that base _needed_ to get nuked. Blasting a hole through the ship that had broken the first Normandy and ripped my life apart was _therapeutic_ to say the least. The Collectors were cowards, and so were the Reapers. Arrogant bastards that thought _they_ were gods and _others_ were playthings. It felt good to come back with a new Normandy and a new gun to tear them a giant fucking hole in their flagship, to say we will _never _go down without a fight.

Every twist and turn in the mission was picked up and handled by the incredible team I'd put together. Garrus led the second unit like a pro. Everyone liked him well enough, and after what had happened with his C-Sec squad I knew it would be good for him to have a team of his own for a while.

Thane and Miranda had stayed with me throughout, the former for his skills and the latter for collateral in case the Illusive Man tried anything stupid. She was a favourite of his, I knew. He wouldn't risk anything happening to her, and besides, I wanted her to be there to see the end of the mission she'd poured over two years of her life into. Especially since, just before we jumped through the relay, she'd come to me, told me it had been an honour, and had saluted me without a trace of irony or deceit. When the Illusive Man finally showed his hand and demanded she stop me from destroying the base, she'd told him she resigned just before switching off the holo and looking at me with an expression that said 'I'm yours if you'll have me.'

'_I didn't discard you because I knew your value_', the Illusive Man had said. I'd seen her lips curl back at that, at the suggestion that, like her, I was just a tool, a puppet to be used as he saw fit and discarded when I outlived my usefulness. In that moment, I knew I could trust her with my life.

She'd almost died when we fled from the base. As she skidded across the falling platform I'd thrown myself after her and grabbed her fingers just as she went over the edge. Thane was there when _I_ almost fell, and together we carried each other out of the wreckage and back to the Normandy.

They'd all made it back. Every one of them. Even Zaeed, limping and cursing from a wound in his leg, and Legion, marked with burns and tears from when I'd sent him through the vents because at least he . The crew hadn't been so lucky. We'd found the colonists from Horizon before we saw the Normandy's crew, hidden away in their pods. The Collectors must have known we were there, for all at once they started processing _everyone_. Fourteen colonists had made it back, and all but three of our crew. Kelly Chambers was liquefied before our eyes as the stunned colonists looked on in horror. They were in the medbay now, with a harrowed but thankfully unharmed Dr Chakwas treating their wounds.

"Twenty minutes to Omega, Commander," Joker said over the intercom as I strolled through the armoury, picking up fallen weapons and tables as I went.

"Tell everyone that can walk to assemble in the cargo hold," I called in response, "I need to talk to them."

He confirmed and I heard the announcement throughout the ship a moment later. I took a moment to look at my reflection in the window and went to smooth down my hair before remembering that absolutely _no one_ down there would give a shit. Not after what we'd all just been through. With mad hair, fresh cuts and dirt smeared over my face, I strode into the elevator with a wide grin on my lips. It had all come together _so_ perfectly.

"Listen up," I called, my voice echoing through the room as I jumped onto one of the large power conduits scattered throughout. About half the crew and all of my squadmates were there, looking at me in relative silence. Even people that had only come aboard for the money were giving me their rapt attention. I guess that was the kind of respect you earned when you brought everyone back alive from what was supposed to be a suicide mission.

"I'm stealing the ship," I said bluntly, taking a moment to watch as realisation dawned around the room. Jack _whooped _and I saw a few other faces light up with anticipation and excitement. "As most of you already know, I'm cutting off all ties with Cerberus and the Illusive Man. I said when this mission started that I'd stay with them as long as our goals were the same, but I don't think they are any more. The Reapers are coming, and the Collectors were only the start. It's gonna get worse, _a lot_ worse, they don't care about us, our needs, lives, desires, _none_ of it. But I do. And I'm going to stop them, but I'm not going to do it by forgetting who I am and what I'm fighting for."

That was what the Illusive Man had done. That was why regular people were scared of Cerberus. _That_ was why I was leaving.

"I don't know _how_ yet, but it starts with me taking this ship." I smirked, glancing around at the sea of faces, "And I'd like to take all of you with me. Everyone here has proven themselves a hundred times over, and I trust every one of you, just like I hope you all trust me. We'll be landing on Omega in ten minutes, and anyone that wants can leave _then_ with their full pay packet."

I paused, and watched this thought sink in. "I _mean_ it," I said firmly, "if you only want to stay because you think you owe me, I want you _gone_. There's no room on my ship for anyone who won't give their lives to stop the Reapers, or anyone who isn't okay with being on Cerberus's shit-list. It won't be easy, I probably won't pay you, and you won't see real sunlight for a while, but this is too important to sit around and wait for a solution to be handed to us. The entire Galaxy is at stake, and I for one _enjoy_ being alive."

A wave of tiredness crashed over me as I stopped to breathe, and I passed my hand over my eyes to stop the head rush from knocking me to the ground.

"Any questions?" I barked.

There was silence, and then, "What about EDI?" It was from Jacob, and it was a good one.

"We discussed this earlier, she's on our side," I said with a nod at the blue orb twirling happily in the corner as I remembered how weird it had felt to be scheming with my own ship. But then, she'd seemed more than happy to cut loose all ties with an organisation that had bound her down and instead take up with the people that had set her free. Having an unshackled AI run my ship was probably one of the crazier ideas I'd ever had, but it wasn't _the_ craziest and I was still breathing so I chalked it up as a win. I was too tired to argue, anyway. I couldn't remember when this day had started, just that I wanted it to _end_.

"Where to next?" Garrus asked, as though that was the only thing he could possibly be concerned with.

"Nearest Alliance-friendly space station to drop off the colonists from Horizon," I said simply, "After that we're going to batarian space to follow a tip I got from Fifth Fleet. And then…well, that's the best part. We get to choose."

There were a few cheers when I said that last part, and as I hopped down to the floor Joker's voice crackled over the intercom saying that we were docking at Omega in five.

I'd meant to drag myself to the marketplace to give any deserters a chance to slip away without confrontation, but as soon as I left the gathering of troops every muscle seemed to scream that I'd been too active for too long, and so I found my feet taking me straight to the elevator.

Parts of my armour fell off haphazardly as I walked into my cabin, and I didn't even bother to put them away. As the adrenaline seeped out of my body I felt limp as a dead fish, and I barely had the strength to stop at my console and delete the message I'd recorded what felt like a lifetime ago. Kaidan didn't need to see it, now, I thought. If I had anything left to say to him, I could say it to his face. It was all part of my master plan. Without Cerberus at my back, I could get him – and the Alliance – on board, and I could fix this mess once and for all.

At last, I collapsed into my bed, still filthy and cut up and aching but too tired to care as I reluctantly wriggled out of my undersuit and flung it on the floor.

"Sleep well, Commander," EDI said as she dimmed the lights and slid shut the blind above my bed where the lights of Omega glared down onto my scarred, bare back. I mumbled a word of thanks, the idea that she was a _machine_ not even entering my head, and let it all drift away from me.

I found out later that if I hadn't given in to my raging paranoia over the Illusive Man's plans, the killswitch would have gone off barely a minute afterwards, and I'd never have woken up. Instead, the tiny, hateful device squirmed away in a box in Mordin's lab, forgotten as it injected poison into the air with total futility.

So many bullets with my name on them, I thought. One would have to hit home eventually, but not today.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

I'd heard nothing for weeks. She'd been sighted around the galaxy and was mentioned in a few reports and, as always, _plenty_ of rumours, but from the woman herself I'd heard nothing. It was then that I'd started wondering if I'd made a mistake in insisting that we cut our ties while she was with Cerberus. She'd talked about her mission like it was a suicide run, but, I realised, it hadn't occurred to me – not even for a moment – that she might _actually_ not make it back. She'd already died once, but apparently seeing her in the flesh again was all it took for me to once more think of her as indestructible. Maybe that was just the way she'd looked at me, with stony eyes and a proud, stubborn stance that said she'd carry on, with or without me.

Or, maybe, it was the way she'd said it out loud, '_I __have__ to keep doing this, even if you don't understand._'

For those few days when I questioned if walking away had been the right thing to do, it was hell. I pictured her dying again, and, just as before, I couldn't save her.

I thought that if I distanced myself from her then it would be easier to deal with. I wouldn't dive back in and get drawn into her orbit like I had last time – no doubt she had her new crew eating out of her hand already – and I'd be able to assess things with a level head. The Alliance had this stupid idea that if they simply ignored her and said they couldn't even _talk_ while she was with Cerberus, then she'd realise her mistake in taking up with them in the first place and would come back, like a kid skulking back to their parents after running away. If they'd stopped to think about it for a second, they would have known that'd never work – she was her own person, through and through, and wouldn't follow when she thought she could do a better job of leading. Instead of dropping Cerberus, she'd assembled what reports called an unstoppable crew and made the Normandy SR-2 the deadliest ship in the galaxy.

The Alliance were scared of her. I didn't know just yet if they were _right_ to be.

I just wanted to know that she was alive.

After days of mad speculation where I couldn't even _think_ about anything else, I got the message. Early one morning when I was reading through reports because I couldn't sleep, an ID I didn't recognise popped up in my inbox. It wasn't from _her_ – that was too much to hope for – it was from an Alliance space station in the Argos Rho cluster, a medical facility. The message said, simply, that they were treating several colonists abducted from Horizon who had been dropped off a few days ago. One had given my name, and the brass on the station had decided I should come to try and get what information I could out of them regarding their rescue from a Collector ship. I'd jumped on the first transport I could.

The ship that dropped them at the space station wore Cerberus colours, and its ID came up as Cerberus-owned, but when they docked the pilot and crew _insisted_ it was an independent vessel. They hadn't stayed long enough to get checked out.

I got on the next transport off the Citadel. When I finally arrived at the space station and was shown the surveillance footage of the docks, it only confirmed what I already knew – that ship was the Normandy SR-2, even if it was full of holes and barely recognisable.

What had they been through to bring back these few colonists? Where did they _go_ to cause such damage to one of the most powerful ships in the galaxy?

What was the cost?

They'd only spoken to the pilot – Joker, of _course_ it would be Joker – and the doctor – _Chakwas_ – who passed on her recommendations for the colonists' ongoing care. Who else had defected with her, I wondered? Did _anyone_ _else_ have the same reservations about Cerberus as I'd always had?

Together with Cerberus they'd done what I couldn't - drove the Collectors from the colony, rescued the colonists, saved the day. She was always saving the day. Now that I wasn't with her I was just trailing behind. She'd been long gone by the time I arrived at the station, and now no one had _any_ idea where she or the Normandy was and the Alliance didn't know whether to give her a medal or a court martial.

I couldn't help but think of _her_, even as I entered the medical facility and knew I should have been thinking about the colonists I hadn't been able to save. Fourteen had come limping back from wherever they'd been taken. Fourteen, out of almost two hundred lost. But, as I might have told her had I been there, there were fourteen people alive thanks to her, fourteen people who could go on experiencing all that life had to offer because she'd pulled them from the fire.

I looked at the list of names they handed me, and each one was like a little spark of hope, something I'd thought lost that had come back, just like Shepard herself. Each one had a life attached, relationships and memories, hopes and dreams that could go on living because she'd been brave enough to do what the Alliance couldn't. The last name on the list made my stomach churn with nervousness – _Jacklin, Lilith._

How was I supposed to face Lilith after I'd stood perfectly still in stasis as she was carted away? I'd caught her eyes rolling frantically in her head as though all she wanted to do was scream _help_ but couldn't even move her lips. I remembered that night I'd promised to come find her for our almost-date, and to make things up to her when rumours of Shepard had made me forget. I remembered how I'd been so distracted over the following few days that I'd barely been able to say two words to her. And then, with crushing inevitability, the Collectors came and turned Horizon into a wasteland.

And now Shepard had brought her back. It was…hell, I didn't know _what_ it was.

Finally, I gathered up the courage to knock on the door to Lilith's hospital room. She called for me to enter, and I didn't know who she was expecting but when she looked up from her datapad to see me, her mouth fell open in surprise.

"_Kaidan?_" she gasped, "I thought you were dead!"

I gave her a small smile, pleased to see that she was actually alive and well, but also painfully aware that it wasn't anything like what I'd felt all the times I'd seen Shepard survive an injury. When I looked at her now I felt 'oh-good-I-didn't-screw-up-_that_-bad' relief, not a crashing wave of 'thank-god-my-whole-fucking-world-hasn't-imploded'. _Sorry, Lilith_.

"I thought _you_ were dead," I said gently, dragging a chair over to her bedside, "I saw them take you back on Horizon."

At the mention of that her face give an involuntary twitch, but she covered it well as she glanced down to her lap. There were healing scratches over her face, and most of her right arm and shoulder was bandaged up. Burns, her file had said, _chemical_ burns.

"I…yeah, they took me," she replied in a meek voice, "And I was awake for most of it, too. I remember…everything."

Her file had also mentioned PTSD, thankfully only a moderate case. That was to be expected when a civilian came face to face with something like that. Sometimes it was hard to remember that soldiers like Shepard and I weren't _normal_ people. Normal people couldn't deal with the kinds of things that we dealt with on an almost daily basis. We could go through hell, pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, compartmentalise and move on. People like Lilith with gentle souls and quiet voices just _couldn't_. This kind of thing _affected_ them. I asked her what had happened, and as she told me, her voice shook and her hands started to clench together unconsciously.

"It was just…_horrible_," she said, describing how she'd woken up in the Collector base to find her pod filling with corrosive liquid, "I thought I was going to die, even before I realised what it was actually doing. I thought this is _it_. I'd seen them do it to others, the…the _processing_." She swallowed hard and continued. "But then I looked up, through the top of the pod, there was this kind of cloudy, orange-coloured shell. And I saw _her_ there, and I just…I just remember _knowing_ that everything would be okay. And it was. I don't know how, but it was."

"Her?" I asked, feigning ignorance, ignoring the way my skin felt on edge at the very _suggestion _of Jena Shepard.

"I don't remember her name," she replied, her eyebrows knotting together uncertainly, "it's all a little fuzzy. When I woke up, she was staring right at me, and when she saw me panicking she just started pounding on the shell with her gun until it broke, and she hauled me out. And then they started breaking all the pods to get us out, as many as they could. I don't know what happened, I think I was on the floor, I might have been screaming, I just—" she broke off and took a deep, unsteady breath, "I remember she grabbed me by the shoulders – I don't know where her helmet went – and just said '_You're okay. You're alive. You're going to be fine._'" Lilith looked up at me, and there were tears in her eyes, her voice was hoarse and trembling, "I don't remember getting back to the ship, I just…I remember the medbay, there was a doctor there, she'd been in the pods too, and I…I must have been hysterical, I was convinced that an angel had come down to rescue us. I thought I must have imagined the whole thing, that it was a bad dream, but then…the ride on the ship got so turbulent, and suddenly she was _there_ again, in the medbay checking up on us, and she said that we were safe, back through the relay, and that she was taking us _here_, and now…"

She lifted her hands helplessly, as if to demonstrate that she'd been swept here by some unstoppable tide and now had no idea what to do with herself.

"What did she look like?" Why the hell did I ask that? Of _course_ it was Shepard, I knew that already. But I had to be sure, I had to _know_ that she'd come back alive, that I could stop worrying about her never coming back. _Again_.

"She was…I don't know. She was beautiful, but sort of…frightening." Lilith lifted her good arm, tracing the air with her fingers, "She had these scars over her face, like a cracked shell. I think her hair was dark, maybe black. And her eyes…they were _lovely_, sort of…amber-coloured." Lilith looked up at me suddenly, "like yours, but lighter. I remember that. I remember looking into her eyes and thinking that everything would be fine now that she was there. Do you know her?"

Once, I knew her and her body as well as I knew myself, or at least I thought I did. I'd always loved her eyes, and the way they flashed gold when she was flushed with adrenaline.

After a while, I nodded, "Yes. She used to be my Commander, back when I was a Lieutenant. That was Commander Shepard, the first human Spectre." Her mouth fell open, and she looked down at her hands, to the cast over her arm where a quick application of medi-gel, no doubt just after she'd been freed, had prevented the need for amputation.

"My _god_," she gasped, "I had…I had no idea. The hero of Elysium…I thought she was gone for good. That's what they said – that she'd been killed in action. My mother told me they had a little memorial on the anniversary of the Blitz, because she saved all our lives back then, and now..." She looked up at me again, and there was a sad, resigned slant to her brows, "You said…back on Horizon you said an old friend had been sighted, one you thought was dead. Was that who you meant? Was she the one?"

_Was_? She still _is_ the one. She'd always be the one.

"She…she was," I said in a neutral voice, trying not to give away exactly what she'd meant to me. Lilith was smart as hell, though. Maybe she'd already worked it out. "I'm sorry to say that the rest is classified, but…it took me by surprise, at the time. I can still hardly believe she's alive."

Lilith glanced down to her blanket, where her damaged arm hung limply by her side.

"Do you think you'll see her again?" she asked expectantly.

"I hope so," I nodded, "Soon."

"If you do, tell her…tell her _thank you_. I mean, the ship had Cerberus logos all over it and she said she wasn't Alliance, so I have _no_ idea about what she's doing, their motivations, _any _of that, but…I don't care. I'd be dead if it weren't for her. So would the others. She…she needs to understand how much this means to me, to _all _of us. Just…please, tell her thank you, from the bottom of my heart."

I wanted to question Lilith, find out everything I could about the Normandy SR-2, Shepard's Cerberus ties, and what exactly had happened during that mission, but talking about her own ordeal had been stressful enough. I still cared about her, in a way. I couldn't put her through that.

"I will," I said instead.

She nodded slowly, turning back to her hands and fidgeting absent-mindedly.

"I'm, uh…" she started, swallowing a lump in her throat, "I'm going back to Elysium for a while. To stay with my parents. I know some of the others want to go back to Horizon to try and rebuild but I…" she closed her eyes and breathed a heavy sigh, "I can't."

"It's a good idea," I told her, understanding that this meant I'd probably never see her again, and that we both knew it was probably for the best. "You should get away from it all for a while, go somewhere peaceful. At least you know that the Collectors are gone for good. You'll be safe there."

It had been almost a week ago, according to Lilith. Almost a week since they'd blown the Collector base sky high and Shepard hadn't been in touch, not even to say that it was over and she was alive. The main thing, I reasoned, was that she _was_ alive, but still, it was weird not having her tell me about it _directly_. And now she and her band of misfits were cruising around the galaxy doing what they wished while I was stuck filling out reports for the Alliance. It was a strange feeling – like not being invited to a party and only finding out about it _afterwards_ from someone else.

Maybe she was just taking what I'd said at face value. She _couldn't _invite me or even _tell _me about it because I couldn't help her while she was with Cerberus – even _talking_ to her was risky enough. But, according to all reports, the Normandy had landed at this station as an independent vessel. What did it _mean_?

I'd told Shepard in my last message that later, when she was finished with her mission – and, I hoped, Cerberus – we could sit down, and she could explain herself, and I'd shut up and listen. Later was _now_. It was time to find her and resolve this for good, put it all behind us. With luck she'd have conducted the mission in such a way that the Alliance could save face by welcoming her back into the fold and congratulating her for managing to infiltrate and sabotage a terrorist organisation like Cerberus. They'd dealt with her coming back to life by peddling the story that she'd been injured on a remote colony and was left without contact for that time, and people had bought it. If the Council didn't want to claim her, the Alliance could easily step in and endorse her actions as undercover work – something they couldn't formally support at the time as it was within the fragile surroundings of the Terminus systems and could spark a war. If she left Cerberus behind _now_, she could claim that in one fell swoop she'd stopped the Collector attacks, infiltrated Cerberus and stolen their tech, and the Alliance could claim that it was planned _all along_.

It was a good idea, I thought, the best chance she had at getting back some credibility in the Alliance after they'd been so keen to trash her. She wouldn't come back on her own, though, she had too much pride, she'd need convincing. I could do that for her. I could be her excuse to come back, I could smooth things over and be her bridge back to the side she _should_ be on.

The Reapers were coming. And I _knew_ that she was thinking the same thing. We'd both seen Sovereign, we'd both heard what Vigil had to say. The Reapers were coming, and the only chance we had was if we all stood together. The only chance _Earth_ had was if Shepard was back with the Alliance. They needed her.

And – and I really _couldn't_ pretend this wasn't part of it – I wanted her back in my life. I didn't know how, I didn't even know if that was what _she_ wanted, all I knew was that I didn't feel whole without her. I had to at least _try_.

With the total, unrelenting determination to do exactly _that_, I finished up on the station and caught a ride back to the Citadel to report in and tell them what I'd found.

Two days later, the news came in that the Bahak System in the Viper Nebula had gone dark. The whole system lost comms, _just_ like that, and the Mass Relay wasn't responding either. Immediately, batarian leaders took to intergalactic news channels to demand retribution for the 300,000 lives that had been lost, blaming Commander Shepard of the Alliance for the deed. Like many others I'd assumed it was just finger-pointing. Shepard was a well-known antagonist of the batarians since Elysium and, more recently, our work to save Terra Nova.

But then the Alliance confirmed it – Shepard was taking _full responsibility_ for the event, and claimed she'd been working solo, that the Normandy and its crew had no idea, had nothing to do with it, and had only been there to pick her up at the end. She'd piloted an asteroid into a Mass Relay.

She'd _piloted_ an _asteroid_ into a _Mass Relay_.

I thought of the hopes I'd had only days earlier that she'd come back to the Alliance, say it was all just an act, and we could move past everything that had happened. I imagined those thoughts blowing away like dust. The batarians wanted blood, _human_ blood, and she'd stated that she would be submitting herself into Alliance custody within the next few days to avoid a war. If the Alliance endorsed _anything_ she'd done, it would start a war. It was hopeless.

After a week of trying to cobble together every piece of information about the incident that my security level would allow and getting nowhere, Anderson called me in to the embassy. He wanted me to go to Earth, to Alliance HQ in Vancouver, to testify in her defence because he couldn't get away from the Citadel himself. They needed me there in two months' time, once they'd gathered enough evidence to make her stand trial. He'd paused as he'd moved to pass me by, and in my ear he'd murmured, '_If you can't do it for her, do it for _me_. It doesn't matter what she's done, I just need to know that she's okay. Someone has to look out for her.'_

The look he'd given me then was of a father begging for his child's life, and I said I'd do everything I could. I remembered my own words to her, what felt like a lifetime ago before she'd blown up both the Collector base and a batarian colony – '_When you come back, I'll be there, if I can. I'll vouch for you if you need me. I owe you that much._'

I volunteered for the next mission shipping out of the Citadel, something to occupy me so I wasn't just sitting around helplessly waiting for my name to be called. Two months later, as promised, the message came through for me to get to Earth, just as Anderson had said. By then I'd twisted my thoughts into a tangle of contradictions. Half of me believed it was truly _her_ and that she had a damn good reason as always for what she did, and that with my help she could get out free, join the Alliance, and everything would be just as I'd hoped before. The other, more cynical half insisted that there _was_ no excuse for something like that, and that she _had_ to have some other, darker motivations that would think nothing of snuffing out so many lives – _alien_ lives.

Mostly, with no contact, I wondered if I'd just made her up. I wondered if the time I'd spent with her, the most joy-filled few weeks of my life, had all been some kind of dream. None of it fit with what was happening now.

I put on the face of a soldier, a professional, and with a heavy, conflicted heart, I boarded the transport to Earth.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

_He tried to look in control, just as powerful as I'd always thought of him before, but there was blistering fear in his eyes, and grim determination in mine. Blood streaked along the ground as he pulled himself away and I stalked over slowly, purposefully, drinking in every moment._

"_You—you fucking little _bitch_!" He snarled, spluttering blood from where I'd pistol-whipped him earlier when he tried to run, before I'd shattered his kneecaps, "What the fuck d'you think you're doing? You think you can just get _away?_ I _made _you! You're nothing without me, you're just a _puppet_!" He coughed, clutching at his thigh with the ruined flesh just beneath as he wheezed, "Cut your strings and what's left? Nothing, you're _nothing_—"_

_In one smooth movement I brought my gun up, stared down the barrel pointed between his cold, blue eyes, watched them fill with the knowledge that he was breathing his last, and I'd never felt more powerful, more in _control_._

_I smirked, "I'm still alive," and squeezed the trigger._

Calvern thought I didn't have an original thought in my head, that without him I'd just be lost, sitting alone and confused, begging for someone else to give me a purpose just as he had. That was part of why I was so angry when I'd been conscripted into the Alliance and told that I'd have to take orders again. I'd wanted a chance to show him – and everyone else that had ever underestimated me – what I could do on my _own_ terms. But then I'd found my own place in the Alliance, carved out a little corner of the world where I fit in perfectly, even if it hadn't lasted. Then Cerberus had come along to tell me that even _dying_ wasn't an option, not when there was work left to be done. They'd tried to gather up my strings and pull them tight without me even knowing it. I'd given them the finger and left, and for one glorious week full to the brim with optimism I was in charge of an independent vessel and some of the most powerful people alive on a mission to stop the Reapers and save the galaxy. _Again_.

I'd wanted to show them, show _all_ of them what this broken down little puppet could do when she was put in control of her own life.

It didn't last long. Nothing good ever did.

Hackett's mission should have been _easy_. In and out, no problem. The batarians didn't even know I was _there_ until Kenso tripped an alarm while we were escaping. When she told me of what they'd found, the confirmation that the Reapers were coming, I'd felt the stirrings of excitement beneath the lance of dread. I'd present the information to the Alliance and to the Council, together with the intel I'd uncovered on my own, they'd _have_ to believe me, and I could rally the galaxy together to fight them under my banner. Not the Alliance, not the Council, and definitely not _Cerberus_, but _me_. I was neutral, I had contacts everywhere, I could be the one to take them down.

Kaidan would understand, then, what I'd been doing this whole time. He'd apologise for _ever_ thinking any different, and maybe, just _maybe_…

It had to be me. I'd seen Vigil, I remembered what he'd told me. I understood what was at stake.

Sovereign had _known_ that within the galaxy there was the potential for the Reapers' destruction. He'd known that, if we worked _together_, he and the Reapers wouldn't have had a chance against us. They had to use subterfuge instead, get agents to break things apart and sow doubt and dissent. They _needed_ people like Saren. That was how they worked.

If I could get them all to just _listen_, follow me against the Reapers, we could actually win. We could get the _jump_ on them. Be prepared instead of caught out, get the chance that the Protheans never had. Despite myself, despite everything, I'd been so _hopeful_.

But it had been for nothing

We'd been too late, the indoctrination was already too deep, and the mission had gone to hell. I'd been smacked down, swatted like a fly revolting against a thunderstorm. My master plan had turned out to be half-baked and useless, and as I'd activated the programme that would pilot the asteroid into the Relay, I felt like screaming with futile rage and frustration. A choice isn't a choice with options like that. It had to be done. I knew what they'd all say even before it happened – Shepard had _always_ hated batarians, she was working with pro-human terrorists, likely this meant nothing to her, she probably did it _on purpose_.

The very thought of it tasted like vomit in my mouth. Even now.

I'd tried so hard, and I'd done _so fucking well_, and no one cared. I'd given them a precious few months before the Reapers came, months when I should have been cruising around the galaxy gathering support and finding a way to stop the world from crashing down on us. I'd given them a head start, and for my trouble they'd thrown me in a fucking cell as a prisoner.

Sorry. _Guest_. For my own safety, of course. The batarians were out for my blood, and I had to stay put for my own protection because I _obviously_ couldn't protect myself. That was fucked up. The Alliance treated me as a rogue agent, a liability when I wasn't walking the line, and when they wanted to reign me in they claimed I was still one of their own.

I'd thought about not going, about just striking out on my own and refusing to apologise for delaying the total, all-inclusive destruction of the galaxy for a time, but no. I'd sat down to meditate, and when I was done I knew that, just like on the asteroid, I didn't have a choice. I thought I'd be able to convince them, get them to see my side like Hackett did. But so far I'd gotten _nowhere_.

It had been almost a month and my muscles were starting to atrophy, I was sure of it. They wouldn't let me use the on-site gym any more. Not since I'd refused to head back when my prison guard – sorry, _security detail_ – told me to that one time. It probably didn't help that I'd put him on the ground with a dislocated shoulder when he'd tried to physically force me, but he really should have known better than to piss off an N7.

Anderson wasn't even here – he was stuck on the Citadel fighting with Udina, said he'd be down as soon as he could but that had been a month ago, before I'd even touched down on Earth, and since then I'd heard nothing. They wouldn't _tell_ me.

It was driving me mad. It would have been so easy for me to break out and catch a transport off-planet but some determined, stubborn part of me wanted to stay and _make_ them listen. Besides, the Normandy was impounded. It had been a quick decision and one I still wasn't sure I was happy with. I thought it would be a gesture of goodwill – a way for me to say that I was never with Cerberus, that I was basically an undercover agent, and that I was still on their side. I _had_ to be if we were going to win. But they didn't care. They'd snatched it away, and now I was locked up.

I wanted to _scream_. To spit and fight and _hurl_ myself against the walls.

The others had all disappeared after I told them I had to go to Earth. All my squadmates had left with real, honest goodbyes and, from most, a promise that they'd be ready when the storm hit. That was all I could expect, I supposed. They were all out there doing their own thing, hopefully progressing, and I was still here, alone, cut off from the world. Useless.

At first, I passed the time by pacing in a rage and making life hell for the poor soldiers sent to guard my cell.

And then I started to read everything I could – old reports, books on the Protheans and legends of the Reapers, my own notes on Vigil and Sovereign, and I tried to make myself ready. When the Reapers came, I sure as hell wouldn't be caught unprepared.

When I couldn't stand to read any more, I wrote. I decided to take advantage of having all the time in the world by taking a moment to remind myself what was important. I thought about who I was, and what I wanted. I remembered Saren, who _he_ was, and what had happened to him.

I thought about the Reapers, about all that I'd learned from them, and what it would take to not only survive but to _win_. I remembered Vigil and what he'd said about the need to root out and crush indoctrination. The Reapers would take us out from within if we weren't solid. I couldn't let that happen – I had to be a centre of strength.

And so, I made myself a list of priorities, things to hold onto in my mind if it ever got too…weird. I narrowed them down to three, I wrote them down, I memorised them, and I whispered them to myself at night. With those weapons, I couldn't lose.

The first was _keep your friends_. With my crew behind me, I'd learned, I could do _anything_. They trusted me with their lives, and to survive the Collector base I'd had to trust them with mine more than once. If the only way to win was for all the galaxy to stand strong and stand together, the least I could do was have the _Normandy_ set a good example.

Yes, that's right. I'd steal it back. It was _my damn ship_, I didn't care if it was impounded as long as it didn't leave this planet without me. EDI had said '_leave_ _that to me_' before I'd stepped off the ship. I supposed I'd have to trust her on that one.

The second was _hold on to your humanity_. The Illusive Man had let go of his a long time ago and, to me, that just wasn't how things were supposed to work. My humanity was my code, the only way I knew that I was doing the right thing. There were rules that went along with it, the key one being _don't kill civilians_. I'd already broken that rule three hundred thousand times and more, but I didn't plan on making it a habit. Some costs _were_ too high.

There was another aspect to this one that brought me back to the last time I'd seen Liara and told her what I was fighting for. Being human, to me, was about all the ways in which we were imperfect that _made_ us perfect. The things that other species might have thought of as weaknesses – our mindless passion, our short lives, our fierce, proud individuality – they were what I loved the most about having ten fingers, a head of hair and weak, fleshy skin. There was no goal to evolution or to life, it just _happened_ and our only responsibilities were to just _live_ as best as we could, to make the most of precious, perfect moments in the middle of the storms that raged around us, things you thought you could never have.

The Reapers thought that was worthless, and that was why I hated them. They knew _nothing_, because they couldn't feel. They weren't gods, no matter what they thought. They could be killed. I'd already killed _one_, and I would kill the rest just the same. I'd find a way.

And that brought me neatly onto the final line in that entry, the third priority after those two valuable thoughts.

_Kill the Reapers_. No compromises, not _ever_. Saren, the man obsessed with the evolution of all organic life, he'd wanted to _join_ them and they'd twisted him into their own plaything. The Illusive Man wanted to _study_ them, to take their incredible power for himself and subjugate creatures he couldn't even _comprehend_. I wouldn't make that mistake. I was a killer, I was _good_ at that, and I wouldn't compromise on killing them. Not _ever_. Not while my heart was still beating in my chest.

As the Reapers drew ever closer, and the days frittered away into nothing, those were the thoughts that burned bright in my mind and kept me strong.

These were the things that would see me through the storm, and keep me alive.

* * *

**Chapter 20: Hush – **On the shuttle to Earth, Kaidan struggles to reconcile the facts with the way he feels. In the calm before the storm, Shepard is stifled in her cell, but when she breaks free for fresh air she bumps into the first and last person she wants to see.

**We've come full circle! The next chapter will pick up where we left off at the beginning of the story.**


	20. Hush

Note: Aaaand now we've come back full circle to the opening chapters. Took long enough!

**Chapter 20: Hush**

_2186 – Four months before the invasion of the Reapers_

_Kaidan_

I closed the file and set it down on the desk, leaning back in my chair and letting out a long, unsteady breath as my mind worked over all that I'd seen. It wasn't all in there, I knew – the mission reports were sparse, summaries at best – but what I _had_ read was...just a little amazing. Cerberus had recruited her to do the impossible, and that was _exactly_ what she'd done. She rounded up a group of misfits at the top of their game from around the galaxy and brought them together, made them trust each other like a multi-species, dysfunctional family. She'd gone to hell and back for many of them, and now they were nothing short of devoted.

It was a talent she had, making people like her. I'd always thought that was strange considering how short-fused and abrasive she was at the best of times, but...there was something about Shepard that made you want to be the very best, just like her. She had a spark that made people want to follow her wherever she went, be part of whatever she was doing. And there was a warmth inside her too, something that came out so rarely that when it did you felt like it was _just _for you.

I remembered the way she'd looked at me on Horizon, her mouth narrowing into a thin, tense line when she realised that, this time, I wasn't going to follow her. Had it all been an act, before? Was the vulnerability she'd once shown me just a calculated way to get me on her side? It still seemed just as likely as all the other crazy things that had happened since then. It had been so long since I'd seen her in the flesh.

I didn't know what I wanted the truth to be – if she'd been pretending the whole time, if she really _was_ a turncoat, then the woman I'd been pining after for so long didn't exist and maybe never _had_. If she was _real_, if she was just a victim of circumstance, desperate and alone, and I'd just refused to listen, then...

Shit, I didn't know _what_ I'd do.

I looked at the clock – two more hours before we arrived at Earth. I slid the last datapad out from beneath the others. When I turned it on it decrypted itself and one word appeared, '_Lazarus_'. I'd heard that word before in relation to Cerberus – intelligence suggested that was what the particular cell tasked with this mission was called, but I knew it had another meaning. That man from an old story who had been dead for days before he was brought back to life, good as new.

I scrolled through files which looked like personal video logs, all of them signed and created by Operative Lawson. Her personal reports. _That_ was more like it. She was a Cerberus loyalist. She'd give _their_ perspective, and at least that way I'd know what they'd planned for her. Several were apparently missing, but there were enough for me to get a good idea of what had happened in that time.

I picked a video at random, near the beginning, but the image that appeared on the screen was nothing like what I'd expected. There was a medical lab, very advanced and covered in Cerberus logos. On the blank metal table was what could charitably be described as a partially-covered body, but 'corpse' seemed more accurate. Was this a morgue of some kind? As the camera scanned over the left side of the body, I saw the leg and arm were blown clean off below the joints, with jagged fragments of bone sticking out at sickening angles and covered with strips of charred flesh. The face was unrecognisable, and most of the skin was a blackened mess. I'd seen a lot of death and injury in my time, but even so this made me feel uneasy. Something about the harsh lighting made it seem sickeningly real.

"As you can see, the worst of the damage is concentrated on this side," said the voice off-camera, a woman's with a peculiar accent, the kind that rich human colonists often had, "We believe this is where the suit cracked upon re-entry to the atmosphere, though we're not sure how it happened." A stone fell through my belly, hot fear rushing up my throat. Was this…? "From our initial tests it appears as if the brain and most of the internal organs are relatively undamaged though she is, of course, technically dead. As this was from suffocation and not injury, though, we are optimistic about our chances."

The voice continued for a few more minutes, making references I didn't understand and using terms I'd never heard. A dull, queasy feeling began in the pit of my stomach, and with a cold blast of certainty I _knew _what this was. The camera jolted suddenly as it moved around to the right side of the body.

There was a hand resting on the table, limp and lifeless and covered in burns. The camera focused, the light improved, and I saw the nails that hadn't been burned clean off were still painted with chips of dark green polish. All at once I remembered that first night at her apartment we'd spent together, her fingers curled enticingly around her drink as she shifted her hips towards me. I remembered the last time I'd been with her, how I'd slid my hand into hers and she'd gripped me tight, fingernails short and chipped and painted the same colour as the dead, blackened fingers on the screen I held. My breaths came thick and heavy.

The camera moved up to her face, and the right side, though burnt and scratched, was recognisable as _her_. A nearby doctor lifted up an eyelid to show her unresponsive eyes, her once brilliant amber irises now dead and clouded with grey. I felt sick. It was her, and seeing her like this, the full reality of what had happened to her, how she'd been burned and broken and _killed_ while I'd escaped to safety…it made me want to vomit. The video was dated as over two years ago, and she was clearly _dead_. But a few months ago she'd stood in front of me, alive and whole with new, red scars that curved around the brutally burnt side of her face…

Lazarus. The word echoed around my head. It was impossible. I assumed she'd been in a _coma_, maybe cut off from communications, but when she said _dead _I had no idea she'd meant…

I swallowed the painful lump in my throat and pressed my lips into a hard line. Jena had never been one to mince her words.

I jabbed the datapad to make the images stop, and the next video blurred into life. It was the woman from Cerberus, the one with the cold, serious eyes that were now alight with excitement.

"It's working. The project is working. There's a long way to go yet and it's already cost us _millions_, but this morning we completed the work on her heart, and I'm very pleased to say it's now beating unassisted. Most of it isn't even cybernetics – we used her own stem cells to grow new tissue, and aside from a few upgrades it's all organic material. Things look very promising now, though we don't know if we can count on the same success with her brain. As we expected we're currently picking up no activity, but we have a whole team working on that, and they have strict instructions. There are, of course, certain _issues_ to be considered regarding any neural programming, but…we can cross those bridges when we come to them." She glanced down and another video appeared on screen. It was Shepard's left arm, or what was left of it, and Miranda's voice explained how nanobots were busying themselves with fusing artificial bone to the cracked ends of her elbow. Her commentary stopped again and another video replaced it, this time of her leg and the similar work being done there.

I remembered with perfect clarity the last time I'd woken up next to her, tightened my arms around her and threaded my fingers through hers, stroked my thumb over the tattoo of five tiny, black sparrows making their way across the arm that just _wasn't there_. As I watched the video it started to hammer home that the body on the slab was the _same _as hers, the one I'd held only – I glanced at the time stamp – a _month_ before this was filmed.

Dimly, disconnectedly, I caught words like '_implants'_, '_improvements'_ and '_robotics'_. They had built her again, and they had built her better, faster, stronger. Much of the material was organic as she said, but Cerberus couldn't resist adding small touches – strengthening her bones, repairing long-damaged nerves, increasing reflexes. They weren't going to spend all that money just to bring her back as she _was, _surely. What else had they done that couldn't be seen?

I remembered the message she'd sent me. '_I'm doing this without you, and without the Alliance, because it has to be done_.' Had they programmed her to say that? To _think_ that? If they had built her from the ground up, could they really risk bringing her back _just _as she was, knowing what a risk Commander Shepard posed to them as an organisation? Even if they'd brought her back the same, she'd never know if she was truly herself – they could have programmed her to believe anything, made it all seamless so that she'd _always_ believed it. Even a tiny _spark_ of a belief could have changed the way she handled herself. Made her susceptible to their control, maybe.

It would have been easier to believe if she hadn't spent the time since she woke up proving me wrong. The rumour still floating around was that Shepard had stolen the Normandy SR-2 and turned her back on Cerberus, styling herself as an independent before she blew up the Relay and turned herself in. I wanted to believe it, I really did, but even if _she_ believed that, it could all be part of a larger plan. Cerberus didn't leave loose ends. If they could bring the dead back to life…anything was possible.

The videos cycled in front of me. I still felt sick. She'd been telling the truth, more than I knew, and I'd thrown it back in her face. She'd been dead, all this had gone on without her consent or knowledge, scientists and doctors invading her body like it was a project instead of a person. She would have woken up to a changed world and a new body with no idea of how either had happened. And though I'd apologised already, I'd still called her a liar and a traitor. My face burnt with shame.

The nanobots danced across her face, rebuilding the flesh of her cheeks and repairing her scarred eyes. Thousands of hair follicles were implanted into her scalp and stimulated into growth. Her thick, dark eyelashes were added one by one as she slept, like painting the finishing touches on a china doll.

I watched in stunned silence, turning the exchange on Horizon over and over in my head. She'd tried to tell me. I hadn't wanted to listen. After two years I still blamed the most powerful woman I'd ever met for leaving, for _dying_.

A machine showed rudimentary brain activity. As they worked to rebuild her consciousness, a needle crawled over her repaired skin, replacing the tattoos on her neck and arms that had been burnt off. I thought that was a nice touch. Jena loved her tattoos, even the ones from past times. It was kind of them to make sure they were there when she woke up so she'd think her skin was still _hers_.

Soon, they began physiotherapy so she could actually _move_ after two years on a table. Targeted electrical impulses jump-started her muscles, building them back up to her old strength. I watched her dead and wasted arms bulk out with the sleek, machine-like curves I remembered so well.

I fast forwarded again and jabbed the play button in alarm as I saw her move. She had broken through the haze of anaesthetic as she always did, woken up, but far too soon. Her skin was still being knitted back together, and her scars were red-raw. They held her down, pumped her with even more sedatives and her body went limp.

It was a strange little fact about her, one I'd always found endearing. Her body was remarkably resistant to anaesthetic and other sedatives, but she could fall asleep within seconds of her head touching the pillow, almost at will. It came from a lifetime of snatching sleep whenever and wherever possible, and when we were together I'd loved it, because it meant I could spend the time when _I_ was falling asleep just watching the peaceful rise and fall of her body.

Her body had been torn apart and put back together. Oh god, Jena, what the _hell_ happened to you?

The final video marked _'Surveillance recovered from [STATION DEFUNCT]'_ wasn't narrated, it was a malfunctioning camera feed pointed at where she lay, twitching with movement, on the slab. A siren was blaring, someone was shouting at Shepard to wake up. She did, jerking up violently and staring at the room as if in a dream. As she tumbled out of the bed, naked and scarred, her movements were convulsive, confused, and I realised she must have still been half asleep from the anaesthetic they'd dosed her with, likely enough to knock out a krogan. Still, she was alive. Back from the dead. _Lazarus._

I watched as the blurry outline of her body fumbled in a cupboard for clothes as instructed, before limping out of the room. I heard gunshots, but the camera didn't move, and the feed faded out to static. She'd died above Alchera, and had woken up two years later in a lab. Must've been _hell_. I skipped to the next video.

It was the woman from Cerberus again, but this time she was somewhere else, an office on a ship, and Shepard was nowhere to be seen.

"Shepard is making remarkable progress," she said in a level, neutral tone, "All signs point to a full recovery, with no apparent instances of memory or function loss. She is still very much the commando she was, and is extremely capable. She seems willing enough for now, and we are keeping constant surveillance as instructed, but this is proving…difficult, as she has a tendency to find and disable whatever bugs we place in her cabin and armour. For whatever reason she is keeping tight-lipped about her thoughts on the mission as a whole, though she _is_ cooperative, and her psychological profile indicates that this is not unusual behaviour for Shepard in a high-stress situation."

I fast forwarded to a few days later, trying to reserve any judgement but still my mind was _racing_.

"Garrus Vakarian has been recruited and is having a positive effect on proceedings, despite what I initially thought. Whether or not it was right to conceal his identity from Shepard hardly matters – with him around she seems more comfortable with the operation, and is more willing to take my advice. We are still screening her messages and observing her around the ship as well as ashore, but I am not convinced that we need to be so thorough. She seems…genuinely dedicated to the mission. I may well have been wrong when I insisted that we should include extra neural programming. It seems as though the shared objective of saving human colonies is enough to keep her on our side."

Two weeks of reports moved rapidly past my eyes until I paused and played one where Miranda looked particularly troubled.

"It's getting harder to lie to her, particularly concerning her old crew and Alliance contacts. Why not let her know where they are? If our goals align it seems cruel to keep that kind of information from her, especially when she has found several of them on her own. It also implies that the Alliance has information that we do _not_, which I'm sure she finds very unlikely indeed. There is one figure in particular – Staff Commander Kaidan Alenko – who she asked the Councillor about. I can only assume that she wants to find him, but I don't yet know _why_. There is little mention of interpersonal relationships in the dossiers provided and she is still tight-lipped, likely due to the fact that she still does not trust us, but how can we expect her to when it's obvious _we_ don't trust _her_ with all the information? I now _firmly_ believe that she'll do everything in her power to complete this mission, and manipulation of any kind seems unnecessary at this stage. To my mind, it only fuels any latent hostility she has towards Cerberus."

She _had_ tried to find me. I hadn't even considered that. But of course, my role was beyond her security clearance as a dead woman and suspected terrorist. Anderson couldn't have told her, and Cerberus kept it hidden. What must she have thought?

The personal logs gave me more questions than answers. If Miranda wasn't the one making the decisions about her 'programming' and the information they revealed, then who _was_? Who was pulling the strings, and what had _they_ done to Shepard?

I played another video, this time a little further along.

"I am...finding it harder to think of her as a subject," Miranda said, her perfectly manicured brows drawing together in something close to worry, "She still has no love for Cerberus, but her dedication to the mission and this crew is...nothing short of remarkable. There is not a single squad member who she hasn't personally helped, myself included. A few days ago she discovered and removed the monitoring chip behind her ear, I believe with Garrus's help while they were ashore. She said nothing about it, and I am unwilling to bring it up. I don't believe it's needed any more. I don't believe she would do anything to jeopardise this mission, we don't need to treat her like a lab rat. It was wrong of us in the first place, and…I don't want to admit to her that I ever thought further programming would be necessary."

I jumped to a week later, and Miranda looked...cagey, like she'd rather be saying nothing at all.

"With the Omega-4 jump approaching I've been re-evaluating things and...I'm now fully convinced that Shepard is our only hope, not just for stopping the Collectors but for stopping the Reapers too. She's an incredible operative, a brilliant strategist and natural leader, and everyone on this ship is behind her a hundred percent, myself included. I can only hope we all survive this mission, especially her. The galaxy is a better and brighter place because Cerberus brought her back. Should this mission be my last…I will be pleased to say I ended my life fighting beside her, for the good of humanity."

She'd won them over. It was something only Commander Shepard could do – she'd taken a born-and-raised Cerberus loyalist and turned her into a rebel.

'_Don't blame her,' _ the note on my desk said, _'She saved us all._'

That was why Miranda had given me the files. That's how Shepard had convinced the crew of an entire ship to go rogue.

Just like last time. We could have all been court-martialed, but I hadn't cared. _No one_ had, we'd just been so thrilled that we were doing the right thing and that we'd show _everyone_ how wrong they were about us when we returned from saving the galaxy.

'_We stood for doing the right thing, even if the people in charge didn't understand what that was. And that's what I'm doing now. And I have to keep doing it, even if you don't understand.'_

I let out a hot, ragged breath and passed a hand over my face. It hit me once again, cold and certain. She'd been telling the truth. She'd come back from the dead. And I'd just blamed her for dying. I felt sick. I had to talk to her.

We'd be landing on Earth soon, I could see the great, blue planet looming in the slim windows of the ship, and all at once I remembered why I was there. Because I'd _already_ been halfway convinced that she was for real, ready to follow her into hell again, and then she'd blown up a Mass Relay.

I couldn't just follow her blindly, not like last time. I had to hang back, take it all in, listen to what she had to say and decide _then_ what to do. I wasn't her Lieutenant any more. I wasn't her _lover_ any more. Things had changed and I couldn't pretend they hadn't. I had responsibilities now, to the Alliance _and _to myself, and I couldn't abandon them for the sake of the woman I'd once loved. All I could do, I thought, was be there for her when the storm hit.

oOoOoOo

"I already _told you_ that," the recording of Shepard said in a low, livid voice, her fingers tensing against the table in front of her. Her lips were tight and pursed, an expression that should have told anyone in front of her to stop doing whatever it was they were doing because she was getting _dangerously_ pissed off. It was the first time I'd seen her since the last video she'd sent, and even now I had to watch her on a tape recorded several days ago of her last interrogation. She had that seething, fiery spark to her eyes that I'd always thought was so beautiful, but now I hated to see her so wound-up and twitching with rage.

"No, you told the IPDC, ABI and JFT," replied the grey, nasal voice of a man sitting opposite her, just out of view of the camera.

She breathed a weary sigh, closed her eyes and rubbed at the old scars slicing through her eyebrow, "And who are _you_, again?"

"The Alliance psychoanalyst assigned to your case."

"Okay then," she gave him a tight smile, loaded with false politeness, "for the _fourth fucking time_, Kenso disabled comms on the asteroid while I was unconscious. I tried to get a message out but the tower was on the asteroid surface outside and at the time I had a reactor overload to disable before I was _disintegrated._"

"And yet you still managed to get yourself off the asteroid _just_ in time, correct?" I tensed in my seat instinctively as I waited for her to yell at him for what his tone suggested, but instead she kept her mouth tense and responded in a clipped, sarcastic tone.

"I'm an _N7 operative_, it's kind of what we _do_." She brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across her face, and tucked it back into the loose bun on top of her head, revealing the stubble she'd trimmed down underneath. It was an unusual style, but it suited her perfectly, just like everything else she did.

"How did you signal the Normandy?" The man asked, ignoring her response to his previous question.

"It's in my _report_ – did anyone even _read_ the fucking thing?" she demanded. And then she leant back in her chair, gave the weary, futile sigh of someone whose flight has been delayed yet _again_, and continued, "With just over four minutes to impact I activated the comm tower outside and got a message to the Normandy to pick me up."

"But not to the colony?" The psychoanalyst was starting to piss _me_ off too. He asked questions like a smug lawyer who'd just caught someone out in a contradiction, but he clearly had no idea who he was dealing with. Shepard had submitted herself to imprisonment and questioning _voluntarily_. She had no reason to lie, especially not about this. Unless…there _was_ more to it. I still wasn't sure.

"What?" she snapped wearily.

"You had enough time to get the message to your ship and save yourself," he said, drawing out his words to achieve the full, condescending effect, "but not to warn the colony?"

"And what would I tell them?" she spread her hands as though explaining the facts of life to a child, "That they had four minutes before the entire system _exploded_? What would they do with that information?"

She had a good point, I thought. But he didn't seem to be interested, and moved along.

"Earlier, when you realised the tower inside the facility was jammed, what were you doing? Who were you trying to contact? And please remember you are both under oath _and_ being monitored for signs of deception."

She was silent for a while, glaring at the person in front of her with her lips thin and taut. Finally, she sniffed and said, "I was trying to get a message to the Normandy to explain the situation."

"Not to the colony?" he asked triumphantly.

"The Normandy could have warned them," she insisted, "my priority was completing the mission."

"You mean you prioritised your _own_ safety over that of the colony?"

"You _could_ put it that way," she seethed, "if you chose to ignore _everything else_ I've said. If I failed the mission, the colonists would have been dead anyway when the Reapers hit. And I had to get out alive, because otherwise it would all have been for _nothing _– I needed to warn everyone, just as I'm _trying_ to do now."

The psychoanalyst paused thoughtfully and Shepard glared back at him, the scars curving around her eye still dark and red.

"Was it easy," he started slowly, "to make the decision to crash the asteroid?"

"_Yes_," Shepard answered at once, "Because it wasn't a real decision. It was _that_ or let the Reapers come through the Relay and kill every living thing in the galaxy, _including _that batarian colony. I sacrificed one colony to buy the rest of us some precious time, which you're all _wasting_, by the way." The last part was said directly at the camera in a firm, livid voice.

He was silent for a while, and then, "You've killed batarians a number of times before, correct?"

She leaned forward across the table, her eyes bright and dangerous, "I've killed a member of just about every species there _is_, pencil-pusher, what's your point?"

"As a Cerberus operative, would you have made the same decision if it were a _human_ colony at stake?"

"I'm not _with_ Cerberus, you stupid piece of shit," she snarled, "and _yes_, I _would_, because those are the kinds of ugly decisions that need to be made when there is a _galaxy_ at stake."

"So your decision to kill _three hundred thousand_ people," he said, cutting off her next words by talking louder than was necessary, "and to destroy an entire system was based entirely on this fantasy of yours about the '_Reapers'_? The same Reapers that _you_ say managed to turn a dedicated Alliance scientist like Dr. Kenso into a traitor? The same _mythical_ beings you said you saw in a dream after your unfortunate _head trauma_ on Eden Prime?" The voice was smug, condescending, and I saw her fingers clench into fists.

"Get the fuck out," she seethed, voice low and quivering.

He wasn't looking at her and didn't see the fury in her eyes, "Please just answer the—"

"Get _the fuck_ out of this room!" She yelled, pounding her fists on the table and jutting her head towards him to bare her teeth, red scars on her face bright and angry. The camera was knocked to the ground as the psychoanalyst grabbed his papers in an awkward, terrified scramble to get away from her and the door slammed behind him. The video went blank.

"What do you make of it?" the man sitting next to me asked smugly, as though it proved some kind of point.

"The video or your half-brained psychoanalyst?" I replied. I felt him turn to look at me in surprise and I continued, "It was a mistake to send him in there. Either he was deliberately trying to antagonise her or he hadn't done his research." I glanced over to him, unimpressed, "Are you even _trying_ to give her a fair hearing, or are you just waiting for her to slip up and contradict herself through sheer exhaustion?"

His mouth opened and closed as he considered my words. "She's a highly trained agent," he said at last, "and she has a number of undocumented and unlicensed cybernetic implants – for all we know she could be capable of bypassing standard lie detectors. We're just trying to work out if she's withholding the truth."

"She gave herself up voluntarily," I insisted, hardly believing it needed pointing out _again_, "You should stop treating her like a prisoner, or at_ least_ top trying to actively piss her off. You won't get anywhere that way, Jena doesn't respond to threats, she _makes_ them – that's how N7 agents are trained."

"_Jena_, is it?" the man piped up suddenly, jotting something down on his datapad.

I realised my mistake, the familiarity that had just slipped out, but I didn't let him see that he'd caught me. "It's not that unusual to call people by their _actual names_," I shot back as if he were an idiot, "especially since you've stripped her rank and made her a civilian."

"Well then, Staff Commander, seeing as you know her _so_ well, what do _you_ think we should do?"

"Try giving her the benefit of the doubt on this one, even if you _think_ she's lying." _You're a goddamn hypocrite, Alenko. If she could hear you now she'd tell you to your face what a shameless, spineless hypocrite you are._ All it had taken was seeing them treat her like _that_ to make me forget my reservations, and for every protective impulse I had to rush to the surface. "She's got no reason to make something like that up."

"So you actually _believe_ that story of hers?" he asked as thought the very idea were laughable.

"I do, yeah," I insisted, remembering Vigil and Sovereign and all the other bits of rock-solid proof we'd picked up, "And I think you should too. If she's lying and you believe her then all you'll do is look stupid. If she's telling the truth and you ignore it, then we're all _screwed_."

"You mean when the '_Reapers_' come?" I could _hear_ the air-quotes, though his hands were still clasped around the datapad he held.

"Unlike you I've actually _seen_ a Reaper," I said gravely, "and I've watched _her_ talk to one. I was on Ilos with her too, we were warned about _all_ of this, the evidence is everywhere, even if no one wants to see it. You can't afford to be wrong on this. _Earth_ can't afford it, neither can the rest of the galaxy. It's too important to ignore."

He rubbed at his forehead, a tired, disinterested sigh breaking from his lips as though I were the last in a string of lunatics he'd been forced to talk to. I clenched my teeth together in annoyance.

"Do you have anything more to add to your testimony, Commander Alenko?" he asked dismissively.

"No, but I might if you let me see her. She'll talk to me." I had no idea if that was true or not, she might refuse to even _see_ me but I had to try. I _had_ to see her, if only so I could tell her that I believed her about this, even if no one else did.

"I told you, we can't let you see her," he said in the world-weary tone of a bureaucrat, "No outside contact of any kind is permitted. Rules are rules."

"And you're still holding on to the idea that she's a guest and not a prisoner, huh?" I quipped, glancing up to the feed from the camera just outside her door where an armed guard stood ready and waiting.

"Jena Shepard _is_ a guest," he said glibly, pronouncing her first name wrong even though I'd said it less than two minutes ago, "she came her of her own free will, just as you said."

"And she could _leave_ any time she wanted, too," I shot back, getting up and turning to the door, "remember _that_ next time you want to doubt the woman that saved the galaxy once already."

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

Maybe I _should_ have sent him that video, I thought, remembering the tense, electric hours just before we jumped through the Omega 4 Relay. It would have been good evidence that I was at least on their side. They may not have believed me, but they'd have a record of my intentions for the Normandy, they'd know that Cerberus had nothing to do with the _incident _in the Bahak System – as the Alliance were calling it – and that I hadn't actually been acting on behalf of _terrorists_.

But then I'd have had to deal with him knowing how I still felt, despite everything, and I wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Maybe not _ever_.

I shut my datapad off and left it on the bedside table, leaning back to stare up at the dull, grey ceiling I now knew so well. There wasn't a lot in the datapad about the final mission _anyway_, I'd been too flush with success and brim-full with optimism to record much of anything, and I scrubbed it of any incriminating information before I arrived on Earth.

I deleted that picture of Kaidan too, along with the others. It had been my little secret, something to torture myself with because I knew those times were dead and gone. At the time I'd figured it didn't matter – he'd come to Earth soon anyway, right? He'd _promised_ to vouch for me if I needed it, and I sure as hell needed it now.

No one was _listening_. It was like they _wanted_ me to fuck up, _wanted_ me to prove that I was just some basket case with dreams about giant space monsters that had made me snap and destroy an entire star system. No one listened to my warnings, my insistence that time was _running out_ and we had to prepare.

It was just as I'd told Kaidan, all those years ago. Of course they didn't want to listen, because they didn't want me to be _right_. I wouldn't want to listen either.

Sometimes, I wondered why the hell I should even _care_ seeing as no one else did. I wondered why it was my job to put myself on the line and save all their asses when they didn't even listen to what I had to say, like they didn't even _want_ to be saved, even though I'd been right before.

The rain had stopped, finally, and through the breaking clouds I could see the bright, blue Vancouver sky up ahead. Sometimes, I wondered if I should just forget about the Alliance, cut them loose and leave. Steal the Normandy – at least I had _practice_ with that – and fly somewhere far, far away from here. Strike out on my own and use the contacts I'd picked up to start my own, independent resistance for when the Reapers finally came, maybe even commandeer a colony – one with a beach – and make it a safehaven. _Then_ the Alliance would see how wrong they were. They'd beg me to help.

I wasn't doing anything, though. I was just sitting here, rotting away, being interrogated and accomplishing _nothing_.

This room was stifling.

I picked up the datapad, flicked open a tiny, hidden compartment on its side, and slid out the long, thin device that Kasumi had promised me wouldn't be picked up by regular scans. She'd been right. I held it up to the window, brushed over a sensor with my thumb, and watched as the locks disengaged themselves and all alarms were cut off.

With practiced ease, I wedged the window open, reached up for the ledge just above, and pulled myself out. The drop below was a full eight stories onto concrete. Good thing ten years of surviving the streets of an overgrown metropolis had made me a _fantastic_ climber. I followed the same route I'd been using for the past two months whenever that place started to feel too small to contain me. It was tricky, but I picked things up fast, and hardly broke a sweat as I finally dug my foot into the last hold – a crack in the brickwork – and hauled myself up to a part of the roof that was dark with the mid-afternoon shadow.

I wasn't actually in the prison block – otherwise they'd have to admit that I was a _prisoner_ – and security here wasn't as tight as it could have been. If there were cameras up here, they didn't work very well. No one had scolded me about my little trips too the roof just yet.

I sat against a vent on a patch of concrete that was almost dry, and fished in my sleeve for the packet of cigarettes I'd lifted from my first cell-guard's pocket. I didn't know why I'd stolen it at the time, maybe just to piss him off after he'd been a dick to me, but now I was thankful that I had. There was one left. Clearly it had been a stressful two months, and that they wouldn't let me go to the gym to work out made it even _worse_. I felt like a machine that had been wound up too tight and left to strain, like I wanted to run for miles just so I could feel my body _working_ again.

I took out Kasumi's little device and turned it over. On the other side there was a live current, a taser that probably wouldn't drop a full grown marine but would at least give him a hell of a shock. It was the only weapon I had, but it had other uses. I activated it now and lit my cigarette with the spark crackling between the two prongs.

The long, indulgent drag I took made my head swim pleasantly, and I let myself relax against the vent as I stared up at the still-turbulent sky above.

Maybe I _should_ just leave, I thought. That would show them. That would make them see that there was only so far they could push a person before she decided to fight back, to spit in their faces and show them _all_ what she was capable of.

Maybe I shouldn't have even come here to begin with.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

The shuttle was late, I realised irritably. Four days on Earth trying and failing to get them to listen to reason was all I could take, and I was booked on the next shuttle to Luna Base, where I could catch a transport back to the Citadel to report in with Anderson. Then, I'd been told, I was getting shipped out again, this time to take charge of a classified project. I wouldn't know anything more until I arrived, but I'd been told it had something to do with my L2 implant, and how I was, apparently, one of the best biotics the Alliance had.

I'd done all I could to try and see Shepard, but short of breaking in to the secured wing of this building where she was being kept, there wasn't much hope. As a known associate of hers they couldn't risk me covertly passing messages or receiving instructions in case…in case _what_? That hadn't been clear. The people in charge of keeping her here seemed to have no idea what they were doing, and spoke about her as though she were some psychotic, violent criminal to be chained up and forgotten. I couldn't imagine how _she_ was taking this kind of treatment. Her years of experience and expertise had made her used to being _listened_ to, and I knew full well that she didn't take kindly to people who tried to talk down to her or dismiss what she said. Even I'd found myself biting back angry words, their indifferent, casual attitude towards the whole thing making it hard to keep a cool head.

If nothing else, it had made me feel like a complete idiot. They were using the same logic _I_ had when I'd first realised she was alive, and hearing it from someone else just hammered home how stupid I'd been. I'd known her so well. I shouldn't have been so quick to jump to the ugliest conclusion I could think of. I should have given her the benefit of the doubt.

The shuttle was late, but at least the rain had stopped. I stared out of the window of the sparse little side room where I waited, and saw the top of the wing where Shepard was imprisoned. I wondered if she was seeing the same sky that I was. She'd always hated the rain.

I turned to head back to the lobby, but a sudden movement caught my attention and I glanced back to the window. Squinting in disbelief, I watched a hand grip tight on the lip at the edge of the building – a sheer drop to the ground – and a leg swing over after. I leaned out the window to get a better look as a person rolled on to the roof with an acrobat's ease and got to their feet.

A head lifted to look up to the side at the sky above, and my heart fell down through my chest.

Of _course_ it would be her. Of course she would be scaling the side of her prison without breaking a sweat, brushing her choppy dark hair back from her face, stretching in a set of tight, plain, slate-coloured clothes as casually as if she were strolling through a park. Of course it was Jena.

The thought hit me with a jolt of adrenaline – was she trying to _escape_? But then I saw her arrange herself against an air vent and reasoned that if she'd wanted to escape she'd have done it a while ago, and probably not in broad daylight with no shoes on.

She was _right there_, I realised as though for the first time. Actually, physically there in front of me, not through a computer screen or just in my imagination. She was there, alone, and I hadn't seen her face-to-face since the disaster on Horizon. I glanced at the time on my omnitool. The shuttle was _still_ late, but now I was hoping it would be delayed all day.

I looked down at the drop onto the roof where she sat, nestled between vents and conduits. I could make it. I still had time.

I swung myself out of the window and perched on the rivet just beneath. Firing up my biotics, I wrapped myself in a barrier and used it to jump to the roof below without a sound.

She still had lightning-fast reflexes, though, and being locked up for two months hadn't dulled her awareness of her surroundings in the slightest. As soon as I took a step, her head snapped around and she looked straight at me. There was surprise in her eyes at first, as though I was both the last _and_ only person she could have expected to see, but as I walked over I saw her jut out her lower lip and throw up a wall of iron-clad indifference.

Suddenly, there was a gust of wind that caught her hair and blew it over her face. She wrinkled her nose as she brushed it back, and when she looked at me again all I could see were her dusky eyes, the scattering of freckles, full lips parted, and she was so goddamn _beautiful_ that all the words I'd stored up to say to her just flew clean out of my head.

She kept her gaze on me, brows drawn together in a half-scowl, as she brought a cigarette up to those perfect lips and took a long, deep drag. Her face was the picture of defiance, apathy, the look of an angry teenager when they're being scolded. I stopped when I was close enough to smell the smoke on the wind.

"They'll kill you, y'know," I nodded at her cigarette for lack of anything else to say.

She shrugged, glancing down at her hand, "I'm pretty sure Cerberus made my lungs wipe-clean," she replied, voice husky, every word shooting straight through all rational parts of my brain, "and somehow I doubt it'll be cancer that gets me in the end. Besides," she looked back up at me, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "what're _you_ gonna do? Stasis me again? I've learned a few new tricks since last time."

I didn't know if it was on purpose, but the casual reference to the brief time we'd spent on the Citadel in the Spectre HQ, joyful and carefree, was a blow. It was as if it didn't matter to her, as though it had just been another day even though at the time I'd thought it was the start of something spectacular.

Irritated, I lifted my hand and did a complicated movement with my fingers, "So have I." A tiny spherical barrier formed around the glowing end of her cigarette and she looked at it in confusion for a split second before, in a practiced move, I crushed it and smothered the flame.

As soon as she realised what I'd done she stared at the cigarette hatefully and flicked it so it spun in a wide arc through the air and sailed over the side of the building.

"Didn't want it anyway," she shrugged, "I just got sick of that fucking room."

"Yeah, they told me you were locked up but apparently they didn't do a very good job."

She looked away from me, straight ahead, and I saw her lips move into a thin line. "No cell can hold me," she said casually. I knew that she was _well_ aware it was a kickback to the first time I'd seen her after those turbulent days following the mission on the Citadel, when her face had lit up with a smile to see me on the other end of the line, and it hurt to be reminded of that time. "Why?" she asked with a sniff, sounding annoyed, "did you just come out here to _tell _on me like the rest of them?"

The tone of her voice, the sneering note, it made my hands clench into fists. She was angry at me, she was angry with _everyone_, and no, I couldn't blame her for that after what she'd been through, but I also knew what was at stake. I knew what the Alliance thought of her, how they didn't think she could be trusted. She wasn't helping matters. She couldn't expect them to see her side when all she was doing was throwing her hands in the air and _demanding_ that they pay attention to facts they'd only recently thought of as fantasy and dreams.

I looked at her, thought of how two years ago I'd have just backed off and apologised. But in front of me I didn't see the infallible Commander Shepard, my superior, the legend that could do no wrong. I saw the woman I'd loved who was now lost and alone and afraid, and was fighting back the only way she knew how. I looked at her, and I knew exactly what she needed to hear.

"Will you _stop_?" I barked suddenly, moving around the vent to look down at where she sat, scowling.

Her head snapped up in exasperation and she glared at me, "Stop _what_?"

"Stop acting like a goddamn child, it's not getting you anywhere. You're too smart for this, you're _better_ than this." I saw her jaw clench together and I ran a hand through my hair to give me an excuse to look away from her and the pain in her eyes, "And look, I know you're pissed off at me and that's _fine_, whatever gets you through the day, but…you have to know that I'm on your side, Shepard." I looked down at her, "I was right there beside you when we found Vigil, _and_ when we fought Sovereign, and when it comes to the Reapers I'll _always_ be on your side. That's why I'm here – I came to testify for you, try to get them to see sense because I _know_ how important this all is, and all I've seen so far is you acting like a pissed-off kid who doesn't care about _any_ of it. You can hate me all you want—" I saw her mouth fall open as if to respond but I kept going, "–but you can't be like that with these people – it isn't helping anything, you'll just make it worse when what you _need_ is to make them _listen_."

Pausing, I sighed and crouched down next to her, taking in the tense line of her mouth and her hard, stormy eyes, "Look, I…I know it's a hell of a burden, and it's not fair that you have to be the one to convince them, but you _have_ to do it. You're the only one who can, I've tried already and they won't listen to me. I _know_ it's frustrating, but…if you want to make them listen, you have to suck it up and do what they want. You have to be patient. You're thirty-one years old, and yeah, you're being treated like hell, and I _know_ it's unfair, but _suck it up_. Everyone's counting on you, even if they don't know it yet."

She was quiet, then. Thoughtful. I could tell my words were sinking in, even if she didn't want to hear them. She'd always been stubborn, _infuriatingly_ so, but I'd been able to get through to her in the past. I hoped I still knew her as well as I had before, when I'd known _just_ what she needed to hear in order to pick herself up and do whatever had to be done for the day to be saved again.

"I'm twenty-nine, Kaidan," she said at last, her voice soft and low as she still refused to look at me, "my birthday isn't until April."

Wait…_what_?

"No," I said in a lighter voice, shifting so I was sitting next to her, my knee just a few inches away from hers, painfully aware of the distance, "you were born in 2154, three years after me. You're thirty-one."

"Uh-uh," she said with a brisk shake of her head, and I saw her swallow what must have been a lump in her throat, "It doesn't count if you die in the middle. If you spend two years of your life in a coma, those two years don't count. I haven't lived through thirty years just yet, so technically I'm still in my twenties. And you know what?" she turned to me, and on the last word her voice caught ever so slightly, the faintest of tremors that said her composure wasn't as solid as it looked, "I'll be immature if I _feel_ like it."

Said the woman who had never had a childhood, never had a chance to be carefree or just _relax_ for a little while without death hanging over her head. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and whisper into her hair that it would all be okay. I wanted to tell her I was sorry on behalf of everyone that had _ever _hurt her. I wanted to take her away from all this, make her _safe _and happy, but I didn't know how, and when it came down to it she still had a job to do here, and I couldn't change that. She turned back to look at the horizon, and her hard, tense profile told me she understood what was happening more than I'd ever know.

"So what did you say?" She asked after a while, forcing a little joviality into her voice.

"About what?"

"You said you came here to testify. So, what did you say?" She glanced over to me, and her eyes were bright and defiant, daring me to tell her what she was no-doubt expecting – that I'd called her a turncoat and a liar and abandoned her like everyone else, all her life.

"I told them the truth, or what I think that _is_, anyhow. I said that you wouldn't have done something like that without a very, _very_ good reason. And that you had no reason to lie to them. I told them they should trust you, but...I doubt they'll listen to me. It wasn't what they wanted to hear." She shrugged, cold, indifferent, like she'd expected nothing less but her eyes told a different story. "So it's true, is it?" I asked, "They're coming, after all this time?"

"It's true," she said gravely, "Though you wouldn't _know it_ seeing as the Alliance seem happy enough to sit on their hands and roll out the welcome mat. I keep trying to get through to them, but they're acting like they already _know_ I'm guilty, they just want me to confess. No one here seems to get that I'm here _voluntarily_ and can leave any fucking time I like. They have no authority over me as a Spectre. I keep thinking that I should stop wasting time here and just _leave_, bunker down somewhere on my own. Hell, the Alliance don't want me, they'd probably be glad, it'd give them a chance to call me a _terrorist_ again."

"The Alliance brass on Earth are _idiots_, Shepard," I insisted, "There are a lot of people in the galaxy that believe you, now it's just about convincing everyone _else_."

"I shouldn't have to do this," she hissed, almost to herself, "I shouldn't have to keep cleaning up after other people, _making_ them see the light because they're too fucking stupid to look at it themselves. I shouldn't have to keep dragging the higher-ups kicking and screaming just so they're _safe_. And I can't – I _can't_ – keep apologising when I'm not sorry. Because I'm _not _sorry, not about any of it. Things could have gone better, yeah, but there's not a moment when I haven't been acting with the best interests of humanity, the Alliance and the whole fucking _galaxy_ at heart. But there's only so much I can care when _no one_ seems to care back."

_I_ care, I wanted to say, but as I formed the words I felt my mouth clamp shut. I'd told her that already, and she still didn't seem to believe me.

"One of the colonists you saved," I said instead, "I saw her after you dropped them all off. She asked me to say thank you. If it weren't for you, they'd all be dead, maybe me too. So it's not true that no one cares. You've already made a difference to a lot of people."

She shrugged noncommittally, as though it were all in a days' work, "The goodwill of a few colonists doesn't mean much when what you _need_ is a fleet. It's almost like they think I've never put my life on the line to save the Alliance before. It's _almost_ like I haven't already _died_ for them, for _this_. I mean what else am I supposed to do? I'm telling the truth, they _know_ that, they _know _I'm not lying to them, they just don't seem to give a shit."

"They'll care when it happens," I insisted, "And no, it's not fair, but it is what it is, and whether they know it or not, they _need_ you. We...we all need you."

I was just one more person placing a burden on her shoulders, and I saw her eyes fill with a kind of sadness because she _knew_ how it was. She knew it had to be _her_, and...and some things aren't a choice. Not when you're Commander Shepard and the galaxy was at stake. That night before Ilos...I'd said so many similar things, trying with total futility to let her know that I understood that it was terrible and not something that could be asked of _anyone_...but it was being asked of her, of _us_, and we had to follow through because we were on the cutting edge, and if _we_ didn't do it, no one would.

All I'd wanted to do back then was touch her and somehow _soak_ it all up so it wasn't just her burden but mine too. I'd wanted to let her know however I could that I was standing behind her the whole way.

"I know," she said simply, "but it still..._sucks_."

All I wanted to do _now_ was slide my arm around her shoulders, hold her close, and tell her that I was sorry about _everything_. I just wanted to brush the hair back from her eyes and kiss her face, _show_ her how much I cared because I couldn't find the words tell her. Because there _weren't_ words to explain how it felt to finally come to terms with losing the best thing you ever had and then suddenly _having_ it again, just out of reach and twisted up by fate.

I hated the distance between us.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

That smile of his, that small, sad quirk of his lips and the bright, intelligent light behind his eyes that said he _understood _it all...it brought me right back to a time when we _had_ no past, when we were just two people starting to realise that we had more in common than we'd ever thought possible.

But every time I thought like that, the memory of all that had happened since came crashing over me and I felt myself wanting to recoil back into my shell, to jut out my chin and roll my eyes at him like I couldn't have cared any less.

Like now, when he was telling me with one look that he still knew exactly what I was thinking, deep down, and knew exactly what I'd needed to get me back on my feet. And through it all, the only thing I'd wanted to do was shut him up, stop the truth pouring out of his lips by covering his mouth with mine and sliding my fingers into his thick, black hair and forget there was anything but _this _betweenus, so I could feel like I wasn't just walking through this world alone and afraid…

But then the thought had turned ugly as I remembered the last time I'd seen him, how I'd been so open, so joyful, and he'd thrown it in my face and acted like he had never even _known_ me. So no, I wasn't going to kiss him, or touch him, or even give the slightest _indication _that there was a war in my head with him at the heart. I'd given him that power over me once, and it had left me feeling scattered and confused and more vulnerable than I _ever_ wanted to be again, with him or anyone else. He'd opened me up, and now I was taking control again, shutting myself off. This whole situation was bigger than the two of us, than whatever had happened between us at one time. I couldn't let it get in the way of doing what needed to be done.

A part of me still wanted to fix things, though. A part that hadn't been beaten down into a black cloud of pessimism just yet. I looked at him and I knew – I _knew_ – that I couldn't push him away. Not completely. I needed him, not just because of the Reapers but because he would tell me things that no one else would. And...and I'd never had something _break_ with another person like this before. I didn't know what I was supposed to feel. I just knew that I simultaneously wanted to never see him again and have him never leave. I'd thought falling for someone was supposed to be fun, filled with light and laughter and uncontrollable affection. No one told me it would be this painful or confusing, this _maddening_.

"I..." I started again, rolling the words around in my head carefully, "I know you're right, too. About this." I could give him that, at least. I knew that I'd been immature and obstinate and a downright _pain_ to everyone here. It hadn't been like that at the start, but two months of no progress when I knew we were running out of time had made me...tense, to say the least. "I know me making their lives difficult isn't helping. Part of me wants to leave, just to prove a point, but...shit," I gave a short, humourless laugh, "I've got to that point in my life where I still want to do it even though I _know_ it's a dumb thing to do, so I can't blame anyone else if I _do_ go through with it and it all fucks up. I can't just leave. Not this time. I need the Alliance, _Earth_ needs the Alliance. I know I have to stick it out. Hell, I'm only alive because Cerberus thought I could save the galaxy – this second chance has to be _worth_ something, right?"

"It's already worth something – you stopped the Collectors, stalled the Reapers, and you're here now. _Alive_. That's what's important. You'll live to fight another day." He looked away, at the horizon of his home city, the clouds swirling threateningly above, "And there's no doubt in my mind that when it happens, you'll be right in the middle of it all. They'll _have_ to believe you then."

_Like _you_ did? _Shit_, Kaidan, I showed up on Horizon to save your ass and stop them from taking every one of your colonists, and you'd still thought I was a liar, even when the proof was right in front of you._ But, again, there was something in his expression that told me he still understood, deep down, what I was thinking.

"You already know what I'm going to say, don't you?" My voice was quiet, meek.

"What?" he replied self-consciously, "that I'm a giant hypocrite?"

I shrugged, my throat tight, "Something like that."

"I know," he said grimly, and I watched the thoughts work their way across his face as he picked out the right words, "I get that. But I meant what I said before. I'm on your side, Shepard. I was standing right next to you on Virmire, and on Ilos. I know what we're up against, and I know that you're pretty much the only hope we have for getting through this alive. So even if you…" he stopped himself there, sighed sharply, and started again, "even if you don't want to hear anything else, just…believe that I'm on your side."

I drew in a thick, unsteady breath and let it out slowly, keeping my face a mask of neutrality even though my insides were twisting with the pain of hearing him acknowledge that there _was_ anything else. Ignoring that it had ever happened was hard enough without him mentioning it. At least he hadn't tried to get me to _talk_ about it. I'd probably rather jump off the building than face up to that.

"Thought you were an Alliance man, forever and always?" I said flippantly, remembering the things he'd written to me in that first message.

'_I still care, I always have. That hasn't changed.'_ Reading the words on a screen was one thing, it was _another_ to consider what they might mean when he was right there in front of me. I hated that I still just wanted to kiss him.

"I am," he replied, "But that means telling them when they've fucked up, not letting them make a huge mistake."

"You think they're wrong about me?"

He shrugged sadly, "I_ know _they are. I get why they're jumping to that conclusion, but that doesn't make it right. There's just…there's no _precedent_ for anything like this. No one quite knows how to react. Hell, I know _I_ didn't."

"And you think I _did_?" I shot back, eyebrows raised, "You think there's some kind of _precedent_ for waking up two years later in a new body?"

I'd been _terrified_, I wanted to tell him. I was still terrified of what lurked just under my skin, what was in my body, something I'd taken for granted for so long that was suddenly _different_ in a way I still didn't understand.

"No," he said quickly, "You're right. I freaked and I bolted because I…I had no idea what had happened to you. _None_. If I _had_, then…I don't know. I guess I'd still have freaked out, but at least I wouldn't have called you a terrorist." He sighed, frustrated, and ran a hand through his hair, "I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for all the stupid shit I said, for how I reacted. I think about all the crazy things that have happened to us since we met, and I just…all I want is–" something loud beeped at his side and his omnitool whirred into life as he cut off mid-sentence.

_What?_ _What do you want? Tell me!_

I wanted to yell the words at him, to remind him that he'd _promised_ me he'd sit down with me and I could explain it all and we could work it out somehow. My reluctance to bring it up had suddenly been forgotten because if he would just _tell_ me that it was okay for me to feel as twisted-up and confused as I did because he felt the same then it would be _fine_ and I could come to terms with it all_._ But I looked at his face as he scanned the message, saw it drop, and I knew that this wouldn't be that conversation.

"Shit," he sighed harshly, closing his omnitool and climbing to his feet, "I forgot about the shuttle – it's here, I…I have to go." I felt tense, uneasy all of a sudden, as though we'd created a tentative accord between us, an atmosphere that had now been shattered.

"Where to?" I asked quietly, disinterestedly.

"Luna Base," he said, his brows drawn together as though he were uncomfortable, as though he either really wanted to leave or really wanted to stay, "And then to the Citadel. I'm getting shipped out on this classified project."

"Okay," I said dismissively, turning back to the sky, to the position I'd been in before he'd interrupted me and turned my world on its head.

"I'll be back in a few months," he said gently, leaning to the side so he was just in my line of sight, "I hope. If I can get here again I will. And in the meantime I'll do whatever I can to prepare for...when it all happens." He was trying to reassure me, I realised, comfort me somehow. But I still couldn't look straight at him, not now. I'd revealed too much already.

"Okay," I said again, and just like that he left. I turned my head ever so slightly to watch him walk away, wanting more than anything for him to _stay_ and hating him because he couldn't, because he'd come here, shaken me up, set me straight, and left again. And, just like with everything else, I _understood_ why he couldn't stay, I understood why he couldn't do more to help me...but I still didn't want to accept it.

I didn't want to let him walk away again. I saw him leaving, Horizon flashed through my mind, and suddenly all I wanted to do was...I just wanted–

"_Kaidan!" I heard myself shout. He turned back instantly, as though he'd been waiting for my voice. I scrambled to my feet and moved over to him, suddenly brave, determined, and when I reached him I touched him for the first time in over two years, sliding my arms around his shoulders and breathing in the scent of eezo and watching a small, uncertain smile full of hope __break out on his face. I told him then that I didn't care about Horizon – even if that was a lie, even if it was still eating away at me – or about anything that had happened since. I told him that I just wanted him back, I wanted to get back what we'd lost when I'd died because I was so sick of pretending I didn't miss him like hell every single day._

_And then he told me in that low, raspy voice of his that _that_ was all he wanted too. He brushed a thumb over my ear, leaned his head against mine, and said again that he was sorry for all the things he'd ever said that hurt me, that he'd only said them because he couldn't believe I was back because it had hurt too much when I'd been gone. He promised he'd never doubt me or a word I said ever again. He said he'd always be there, right beside me, that we could pick up where we left off, and then he moved his fingers around my jaw, tilted up my head, and kissed me. In that instant, just for a second, nothing hurt, and I was back in my apartment without a single care in the world, because I knew that, whatever happened, he'd be there to face it with me, and that was all the strength I needed._

I said nothing. I opened my mouth, said nothing, and closed it again. My hands were shaking with the effort of keeping it all in, and I twisted away to stare at the ground and just _breathe_ until...

"Jena," he called, and it took me a second to realise I hadn't just made that up too. I whipped my head back around to look at him standing by a utility door, a strange look on his face. Something bubbled up inside me, excitement and butterflies – did he have the courage that I didn't? Had he been thinking the same thing? "I'll tell Anderson you're doing okay," he said at last.

The disappointment I felt was only eased by the fact that, actually, I _did_ want to talk to Anderson, and I _did_ want him to know how I was. Hidden in his words and expression was another meaning too, a need for me to tell him that I'd still be here, alive and sane, when he got back, because there was more than one person who cared.

"Thanks," I replied, trying to be sincere, "I _am."_

"Good," he nodded, lingering for a moment as though he didn't want to leave, "stay safe."

And then I watched as he slipped inside the building and I was left alone again, up on the roof, my lips forming all the words I wished I'd said out loud.

People said you wanted what you couldn't have, the _unattainable_. That was bullshit. For people like me who'd had to fight and spit and struggle to get _anywhere_ in life, you only let yourself want things that you knew you _could _have, deep down. Things that were _safe_ to want – power, recognition, more and more people being amazed at the things I could do so that I'd feel I was _worth_ something. I wanted the chance to do the impossible because I _knew_ I could do it.

But there were other things, too. Things that I knew were beyond what I could do or keep inside myself. Getting close to people, letting them get close enough to hurt me, that was something I knew I couldn't do. Something truly unattainable. I'd seen things I'd call love, I'd seen what it could do to people. It wasn't for me and it wasn't _safe_ – it wasn't a luxury that people like me _had._ I'd made a choice a long time ago, and I'd chosen to be invincible. But he'd cracked me open, he'd made me want _more_, want _him_, and I hated him for it.

He'd made me want something I should have known I'd never have. And even now he was making me want it back, even though I knew it was dead. I'd always had iron-clad control over myself, but now I couldn't stop languishing in grief, thinking about him and making myself sick with anger and denial and the plain, stupid fact that I still cared about him.

I knew what I needed – it was for me to tell him _exactly_ how I felt so we could work out where we stood instead of exchanging these vague hints and half-smiles and dancing around the issue that there was _history_ between us. But the very idea of bringing it up again was…just impossible. It was like there was a mental block around that entire part of my life, like I could only admit that it happened if _he_ admitted to it first. As though by telling him that it _happened_ and I _remembered_ and I _still wasn't over it_, I'd leave myself wide open to be shot down again, and I wasn't about to let that happen. I'd felt enough pain because of him already.

I pictured his face with perfect clarity from just a few moments ago, as he told me he was glad I was doing okay. Maybe he should have just _left_. I didn't hate him – not even close – but I wanted to. It would be so much easier just to chalk him up as a loss and cut him loose.

I stared up at the sky, now filled with dark, heavy clouds that promised more rain, and I wished that I hadn't thrown away my last goddamn cigarette.

oOoOoOo

I'd taken Kaidan's words to heart, surprisingly enough. Since that day I'd been the picture of helpfulness – barring a few minor relapses – but it had got me close to nowhere. Of course, if I was making any progress I would probably be the last one to know about it. They were still treating me like a criminal. They even had a _new_ psychoanalyst interview me once a week to check that I wasn't fraying at the edges. With her, I was ruthlessly honest. I figured that the world would end any day now so it hardly mattered if she knew how I felt about myself, my abilities, my own success and the things that had happened since I'd become a Spectre. I figured if any of this stuff got back to _him_, then at least he'd know I'd never lied.

He'd promised he'd come back.

Two months later, and I hadn't heard a word. Not from _anyone_, not until Anderson finally came. We were allowed to meet across a table, our every word and look monitored by cameras and microphones and the men behind the two-way mirrors. He put a hand on my arm as he came in, firm and comforting, and when we spoke in a strange, evasive sort of way, he told me he was doing what he could to prepare the Council on the Citadel, though Udina was still fighting him every step of the way. He told me that Hackett was mobilising the Fifth Fleet at that very moment, and that at least we'd have some defences ready.

With the Alliance brass, though, they were having no luck. The committee tasked with investigating my actions had failed spectacularly in every way. I wanted to tell Anderson that I was seriously beginning to suspect indoctrination or a Cerberus mole, but I was well aware that the Alliance already thought I was a half-mad conspiracy theorist and that _this_ would only pile on. I just told him _'something's not right'_, and he said in that deep, meaningful voice of his that he knew.

I didn't ask him about Kaidan. I didn't tell him that I was beginning to lose all hope.

Not knowing was the hardest part. The total lack of contact. The entire world reduced to a few bare walls and plain rooms, when for so long I'd had the entire _galaxy_ as my playground.

And then, a day after Anderson left, four months into my imprisonment, I met James.

The knock on my door was different this time – it wasn't the quiet, polite taps of the guard they'd had before, it was a sharp rapping sound that made my head snap round in interest. I called for him to come in, and when the door opened the man in front of me had arms thicker than my waist, a spiked tattoo running up his neck, and low, stern brows that said he didn't take shit from anyone. Well, neither did I.

"You're wanted at a hearing with the IPDC, Ma'am," he said formally, "I'm here to escort you."

What was _this_, tough love? Had they got so fed up with me making life hell for my guards that they'd finally sent a man that could just pick me up and hold me at arms length if I got into a pissy mood?

"Call me Shepard," I said disinterestedly, pulling on a shirt over the plain tank top I wore.

"No, Ma'am," he replied to my surprise, "If it's alright with you, I'd rather not."

I looked up at him sharply, trying to work out what he was playing at. I couldn't order him around as my rank was stripped, but most soldiers at least respected and feared me enough to do what I asked.

"It's _not_ alright with me," I said firmly, taking another look at him to re-evaluate the situation, "I hate '_ma'am_', what the hell's wrong with my name?"

"Respectfully, ma'am, I was told by the brass that you ate marines for breakfast, and by Anderson that if I let my guard down you'd have me eating out the palm of your hand within a week. Until I know which is which, I'm keeping my distance."

My lips fell open and I wanted to burst out laughing. He looked like the only words he knew were 'gun', 'kill' and 'gym', but the way he spoke made it obvious that there was a sharp mind ticking away under all that muscle.

"Well," I said, crossing my arms, "You still can't call me '_ma'am_'. And if you won't use my actual _name_ then you'll have to think of something else."

The barest suggestion of a smirk made his mouth twitch ever so slightly against his will, "I'll work on it. Good to go?" I nodded and followed him out.

He told me, eventually, that Anderson had recommended him for the position of my prison guard. That made sense. He was the only reason I didn't go _crazy_ for the next few weeks of hoping and waiting and wanting to punch clean through the walls.

It took some convincing, but after a while I told him that when the Reapers invaded and I was too fat and soft to do anything about it, it would be _his_ fault for not letting me use the gym. I told him to relax, because if I wanted to kill him there wasn't a lot he could do to stop me. Strangely, that seemed to work, and after a few weeks he'd take me there every day with him, and I'd work relentlessly to whip my body back into perfect fighting shape. If the Alliance weren't listening to me, then I could at least be ready when the storm hit.

On rare sunny days, he'd take me with him to the memorial gardens outside the Alliance HQ so I could get some fresh air. I'd look at my own name etched onto the stone, and I'd look at all the others that had been lost and weren't coming back. I'd mentioned that it was odd they hadn't taken my name off the monument seeing as I was _alive_ and found it very strange to be standing in front of my own grave, but James had pointed out that, technically, I had still died in the service of the Alliance, so the inscription on the memorial was still accurate. I didn't like the 'Rest in Peace' part, though. Death had brought me neither rest nor peace, unlike all the others that lay scattered in the ground in this graveyard.

The other guards – the ones that were _armed_ – were never far. I could see them easily, though they took great pains to hide themselves. James told me it was because of the _batarians_, and that they couldn't leave me unguarded out in the open in case there were assassins about. But the way in which he said it told me that he didn't believe a word of it himself, and not just because I could deal with any assassins quite easily on my own. He told me once that it was obvious to everyone that I was only in custody because I _wanted_ to be. He said that I was respected for it, and that most marines _he_ knew agreed that it made it look like _I_ was a hero and the Alliance were fools bending over backwards for politics when _defence_ should have been their only priority.

Anderson had done a good job with him. I'd been on my best behaviour in the hearings after Kaidan had hammered home some uncomfortable truths, but I'd still been a petulant, uncooperative little spitfire with my guards, if only to prove the point that I really didn't _need_ to be guarded. James was probably the only marine in the galaxy that could have done the thankless job of guarding me without just pissing me off. Hell, after a while I decided I actually _liked_ him, even if he was still avoiding saying my actual name. He was the only thing I _had_ here. Without Kaidan and Anderson around, he was the only one who I knew actually believed me and thought this whole thing was just as fucked up as _I_ did.

After a while, the interviews stopped. I thought that meant there would be progress, but I knew they would just stagnate and do nothing. '_Gathering evidence'_, they said, but I'd blown all the evidence to hell when the asteroid hit the relay. The only evidence was in my head, in the dreams that told me it was coming and _soon_. Those, I knew, were hardly admissible in court.

The only person that visited now was the psychological assessor who would come in every week to check out my state of mind. I didn't know if she was trying to work out if I was _lying_ about the Reapers, or if she just wanted to know if I was deranged enough to _believe_ it all.

Hackett was no help whatsoever. I'd been on _his _mission - he should have been able to click his fingers and be done with it, but nothing happened. And no one would tell me why. No one would tell me _anything_.

They were afraid of me, I realised. They were afraid of what I could do if I chose to leave, of what I said and _what if_ it turned out to be true. They were right to be afraid. They had no idea about the things I saw in my dreams. They had no idea of what was to come.

Each night before I slept, I'd remind myself of what was important in whispers and silent thoughts.

Keep your friends.

Hold on to your humanity.

_Kill the Reapers_.

**A.N. **Sorry to all the reviewers hoping for a happy resolution in this chapter. Bioware is a troll and so am I! Thanks for reading – next update should be up early next week.


	21. Storm

**Chapter 21: Storm **

_Kaidan_

My hand was still burning from where she'd held it, the way she'd grabbed me like a lifeline as I'd pulled her aboard the Normandy, aware of every second that my skin touched hers.

The last time I'd actually touched her, I'd been kissing her goodbye. It felt like a century ago, a dream. This felt like a dream too, because there was no way it could be real.

There was no way, after months – _years_ – of speculation and dread, that it had happened at last.

The Reapers were finally here. An hour into the attack and my home was already all but lost, the skyscrapers of Vancouver cut into pieces, reports from all over Earth of _unfathomable_ destruction and chaos. It was the fight I'd trained for all my life, the one I'd been gearing up for ever since Eden Prime, but now I was watching from the sidelines. Even now we were speeding away from the devastation tearing through the planet, away from my home city burning, and Vega was shouting and Shepard had ignored him at first but now she was yelling right back and this – all of this – was just _wrong_ somehow.

The radio signal had been weak, but I'd made out the words '_I have Shepard with me_', and suddenly my _only_ priority had been to get the Normandy to wherever the hell they were. I hadn't taken the time to look around at the horror of the city I'd grown up in falling down around me – at that moment all I'd cared about was pulling her out of hell. I barely even spared a thought for my parents, the people I'd seen just yesterday before they left the city, and now all I could do was hope that they'd left fast enough.

Anderson had fought to get Shepard off-planet, and then he'd stayed behind. The look on her face when she realised he wasn't coming was nothing short of heartbreaking, like a too-young soldier being sent off to war for the first time, saying goodbye in the full knowledge that they probably wouldn't come back. She'd been angry about that, was _still_ angry about that, but the anger was futile because there was so little we could actually _do_.

I heard a loud, metallic _bang_ and looked back to see her bare fist smashed against one of the crates littering the cargo hold. At once, James was silent.

"I just need to _think_, okay?" she yelled, the red scars curving around her face just as dark as her manic eyes, "I just need a few seconds to figure this out, and I need you to _shut the fuck up_ while I do it!"

I didn't know what their relationship was – I thought he'd just been escorting her to the hearing, but if he _did_ know her then he must have been incredibly brave or just incredibly _stupid, _because heargued right back.

"Figure _what_ out?" he shouted, "how to turn the ship around? Because _that_'s all we should be doing! We can't leave them—"

"We _have to_," she insisted, voice hard and unbending, "otherwise we're all _dead_. I don't like it either, but we _can't_ go back – it's too late, the Alliance wasted too much time. I _told_ them this would happen, they didn't listen, and—"

"And what," he bristled, "we're just gonna fly away because you're _pissed_?"

"_No_. We're going to get help. We're going to do what we should have spent the past six months doing – we're going to gather an army, and we're going to take Earth back. I'm going to fix this, and I _want_ you to help me, but if you'd rather be on Earth then I'll just open the _fucking airlock _and you can jump out, because I am _not_ turning this ship around. _Do you understand me, Lieutenant_?" The drill-sergeant voice she used made Vega bite back whatever retort he had on his lips as he hunched over and looked off to the side with his jaw tightly clenched. Seeing she'd won, Shepard stepped back from where she'd been snarling up into his face and relaxed her shoulders. I was still standing where I'd been before, watching the whole exchange as though it were a recording, as though none of this were really happening.

"This is _bullshit_," I heard James mutter, even as he stalked off to the back of the cargo hold. I felt the early twinges of a jagged headache working their way up the back of my neck.

As soon as he was out of sight she turned back to the wall of crates she'd just dented with her metal-threaded fist and ran a hand over her face. There was pain in every movement, and now, with just the two of us, it had become so, so real.

"There's nothing we could have done," I said at last, and her head jerked up in surprise as though she'd forgotten I was there. Her eyes searched my face in a split second, and she looked down to the floor, her lips tense. "The Alliance screwed up, but Anderson spent the past few months making _sure_ the Normandy would be ready, and that you'd be on board when this all went down. This is the _only_ thing we can be doing right now, you have to know that."

"Then why does it feel so much like running away?" she asked plainly, her voice already hoarse and exhausted. She gave me a long, hard look and in her eyes I saw crushing defeat, the look you hide from your own soldiers and only share with those that already know how bad the odds are. She shared it with me now, in that sharp gaze of hers that cut through all the bullshit, all the clichés and banalities and demanded to know exactly _what_ you could tell her that could make any of this any better.

'_Because you'd rather be fighting with Anderson'_, I could have said, or maybe even '_because we _are_ running away'_. But instead I said nothing, no platitudes to try and explain away the mess we were in. There was no precedent for this kind of thing. We'd never faced total extinction before. My hand was still tight around my gun as I stared back at her, still just so grateful that she was _alive_ and _right here_ where at least I knew she was safe. For now.

"So, _Major_ Alenko," she said after a while, moving over to her armour piled up at the side, "are _you_ calling the shots now, or are you gonna let me have my ship back?" Her hand ran over the marks on the hardsuit where scars and dents had long since been buffed out. Her tone was casual, light, even, but I knew better.

"You'd follow my orders?" I asked disbelievingly, already knowing the answer.

"I'd _think_ about it," she said, tugging her undersuit out from beneath the pile of armour pieces. My own hardsuit was back on the Citadel in storage, but there was another left in the Normandy. Anderson had told me that only a few days ago when I'd arrived back on Earth just in time for the invasion. He'd intended me to be part of this crew too, but never at its head. _That_ space had always been meant for her.

"The Normandy's yours, Shepard," I said simply, "and its command. Always has been."

There was no other way it _could_ be. That very morning I'd seen the almost imperceptible _twitch_ in her eye when she realised I'd been promoted to Major and now outranked her even more than before. No doubt she wasn't fond of things happening around her when she could do nothing about it, especially when she was locked away for no actual reason. Still, the thought had never entered my mind that it would be _me_ giving the orders – in my mind it was _always_ her. Anderson had looked at me as she pleaded with him to come aboard, and in that look he'd told me to do what he couldn't – take care of her, follow her just as I used to, get through this _together_ because there was no other way to win.

For a moment I thought she might thank me for the show of confidence, maybe even say that she was glad I was there, but I knew the woman in front of me too well. I knew that stiff, stubborn twist to her chapped lips, the tension that flowed through every one of her muscles that said she had a _job_ to do and didn't have the time or energy to think of anyone or anything else.

"I know," she replied at last, still not looking at me, her face hard and blank and revealing nothing. And then she glanced up with a curious look in her eye, just for a second, opened her mouth, closed it, and turned back to her armour.

The words 'are we okay?' lined up on my tongue, and at that moment I'd fully intended to start an actual conversation about how we would work together after everything that had happened, but Joker had other ideas. As soon as his voice crackled over the commlink, she was all business again.

I watched her hands as she gripped the side of the console, arms rigid as she spoke to Hackett. She lifted her head to order Joker to Mars, and then she turned to me and gave a weary, hopeless sigh, as though to say she had absolutely no idea what she was doing or where she was going and didn't care if I knew it. It was the same way she'd looked at me the last time I'd seen her, with a kind of sadness that said she knew what had to be done, and that _she_ had to be the one to do it, but couldn't for the life of her figure out _why_.

I thought of the way she'd looked as we pulled away from Earth, her mentor staring up at her, with pain and distress and all-consuming _frustration_ written on her face as if all she wanted to do was _scream_ and stop the world just for a moment so she could take a breath.

_We_ could wait.

"Are you okay?" I asked, needing to hear a real answer. It came in a short, helpless shrug, her brows drawn tightly together. All I wanted to do was touch her again, hold her hand tight and firm and draw out some of the tension wound up inside her, tell her that it would all be fine even though I knew things would only get worse. Apparently the four months I'd been without any contact from Shepard had done nothing to help me get over her. As soon as I'd seen her, just like before, it had all come flooding back.

"I'll have to be, right?" She said simply. "It's not much of a choice when it's _that_ or watch the world burn." She looked back down to her armour and gathered up her undersuit. "At least…at least now we have a plan."

_We_. It was a little thing, maybe even unconscious, but I held onto it. I was here with her, fighting alongside her like I should have been all this time. Even if we couldn't fix what had broken between us, I could keep her safe, watch her back. With so much chaos swirling around us, it would have to be enough.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

Telling James to drive the shuttle had been a good idea, I thought. He'd calmed down, but I could tell he was still simmering, and at least this way he'd have something to concentrate on that wasn't _me _and how I was making him run away from our home planet while fire rained down on helpless civilians. At least on Mars I could point him in the direction of any Reaper hostiles that landed and let him loose with that huge gun of his that I'd never seen him use. I'd been told he was a hell of a soldier and fought like a battering ram, which would compliment my style perfectly. After all, Anderson hadn't _just_ picked him because he was good at not pissing me off.

I wasn't even pissed off at him _now_, even though he was clutching the controls to the shuttle with a stony look on his face, staring dead ahead at the monitors and resolutely ignoring me. That was fine. I understood why. We were all tense. It would pass.

I moved to the back of the shuttle where Kaidan sat hunched forward, his brow furrowed in thought, harsh lights casting a shadow below his high cheekbones. Silently, I sat next to him and inspected my weapon for the fourth time.

Kaidan was still…hard to be around. It was strange enough seeing him as I'd rushed to the hearing this morning, even _stranger_ to hear that he was now a Major and had, once again, moved on with his life while I sat around, _useless_. I didn't begrudge him the success, far from it, I was glad that he'd found his place and was doing so _well_, but…I hated being left behind. I hated feeling like the world was turning around me while I stood perfectly still.

At least this time I hadn't been unconscious. And he'd known where I was, even if the only time he'd been able to get back to Earth was on the very day I would need him the most. He'd given me this odd little smile as I'd moved past him to the hearing, as though to say he was happy to see me there, alive and well, that it was a pleasant surprise.

And so, when Earth had been attacked and we'd been hurdling the charred bodies of allies to get out of the building, I'd feared for his life. I knew he was capable enough, but a lot of capable people had already died in the chaos of the invasion. And then I'd heard Anderson up ahead saying the words '_Major Alenko, is that you?'_ over the radio and something inside me had just wanted to _collapse_ with relief.

It wasn't just that he was alive and well, it was that he was on the _Normandy_, back where he belonged, and they were coming to help us. Anderson had patched him through to my frequency and hearing his voice over the radio had eased the frantic hammering in my head. He was fighting creatures from our nightmares, watching the world erupt into flame and rubble around him, and he was talking as calmly as if he did this every day. Kaidan had always been the calm in the centre of the storm, the voice of reason that said he _understood_ why I wanted to howl in frustration but that overreaction wouldn't help anything.

He'd promised me he'd come back. He told me that, if he could, he'd be here when it all happened.

I stole a glance now, at where he sat staring at his hands clasped together, expression thoughtful and faraway. He'd come back, just as he'd said he would, and now he was right here beside me, just as I'd wanted.

But things still weren't working as they should. It was still strange to be around him, especially in the context of a mission where he'd already said I was in charge but where he _outranked_ me, and though I still remembered just what it was like to fall into sync with him like we'd trained together all our lives, he'd been fighting different battles for almost three years. He'd changed, there was no doubt about that.

Still, the core of him was still the same. He was still calm, reasonable, thoughtful. He still knew exactly what I needed to hear, even though that infuriated me. Having him here at the end after he'd been there with me at the beginning felt…it felt right and wrong at the same time. The part of me that needed that kind of basic comfort felt safe every time I heard his voice. The other part, the part that was still smarting like hell over the way he'd rejected me on Horizon and how I'd been too much of a coward to tell him how I felt…that was still filled with bitter resentment. I knew that there was something still crackling between us, and I hated not knowing what it was or what to do with it. I hated not knowing how to act around him. I _hated_ not knowing how he felt.

But, I reasoned, at least he was a welcome distraction from the Reapers. It had been horrific, every second, and even now that I'd had a few hours to process it, that was still the only description I could come up with. It was like those dreams where something awful is happening right in front of you but you're stuck, held down, mute, unable to _scream_ let alone stop it. That kid. I'd watched his shuttle go down while I was being taken away to safety because apparently my life was worth more than his, because everyone thought I could _save_ them. That kid had been smarter than all of them. _You can't help me_, he'd said, and he'd been right. I wondered how many more people I'd have to see die, after swearing I'd save them all.

I thought of Anderson, and I felt sick. I'd left him there, and I still had no idea if I'd ever see him again. I hadn't fought side by side with him in years and...it killed me to say it, but he was getting old. Him at his worst was still better than most people at their _best_, and he could still keep up with me, but he'd graduated from the N7 programme almost twenty five years ago, and it was starting to show in the way his aim was just _slightly_ off, and how he'd had to pause to catch his breath more than once. And yet here I was, still young and finely-tuned and capable, and I was jetting off to play politics and gather intel, while he was left on Earth to fight a battle that should have been mine.

It just...well, it _sucked_.

"We're almost there," Kaidan said suddenly, and I snapped my head up to stare straight at him, at those whiskey brown eyes framed by thick brows that were lowered in concern. I wondered how long he'd been looking. "You think we'll encounter any resistance?"

It wasn't a real question, that much was obvious, he was just trying to stop me from making myself crazy over something I couldn't control. He was transparent, _painfully_ so, but at that moment I didn't care. I needed a distraction and there he was, telling me to focus on the mission to hand. Focus on what you _can_ do, not what you _should_ be doing. I'd have told him the same thing a few years ago. Back then I'd have taken this all in my stride, I wouldn't have spared a thought for the people on Earth. Learning to care was the worst mistake I'd ever made.

"Don't know," I replied wearily, "We shouldn't. The Reapers haven't hit Mars yet but they will soon. As long as we're in and out fast enough we should miss them. The only living things we should find are the Alliance troops and scientists stationed there, our priority is extracting the intel in the Archives, but if we have time we'll evacuate whoever we can."

"If you're not expecting hostiles, why so many guns?" He looked pointedly at the heavy pistol in my hand, the other on my hip and the shotgun slung across my back.

"I haven't touched a gun in almost six months, Major," I flexed my fingers around my pistol in agitation, as though to remind myself it was still there, "And after today I'm never going outside without one again."

He understood that, at least. Not many people would, but he knew I felt naked without a weapon to hand. If he remembered anything at all about me, he'd have known how hard it had been for me to stay locked up for so long without one.

"Fair enough," he said simply. And that was it. But at least I wasn't thinking about the Reapers any more. No, instead I was thinking about the man sitting next to me, and when we landed on Mars all I could think about was the way his voice sounded as it came over the commlink in my helmet and the way _that_ sound was so linked with a tight bundle of memories that it brought them all rushing back. Idiot that I was, I started to think that maybe it would be okay. Maybe fighting with him would be just like how it was before, maybe we'd be able to _fix_ it all.

And then we saw Cerberus, and I could hear it in his voice as he said the name – the resentment, the bitterness for all the things they'd done to me and to others. I could _hear_ the thoughts mulling around in his head as he asked me if I knew why they were there. I could hear him wondering whether _that_ was why I'd taken so many guns to what should have been a clean extraction, if maybe I knew more than I was letting on. I could feel the change in the air when the idea clicked into place, as the Alliance soldier inside him wondered whether he'd been too quick to trust me after all.

"How can you not know why they're here?" he demanded as we picked over the bodies of the agents we'd just blown to hell. The commlink made his voice sound harsh, demanding, and without being able to see his face, his tone just made me angry.

"What, because I've got an earpiece with a direct line to the _Illusive Man_?" I replied, voice loaded with sarcasm and adrenaline running high as I moved forward into cover, "Is _that_ what you mean?" The very suggestion of it made me furious. I thought we'd left it all in the past, I thought he'd actually _understood_ that I'd never really been on Cerberus's side, that I'd _always_ had my heart in the right place.

"No, I don't think you're still working with them," he said, his voice straining as he threw the last Cerberus commando back with a heavy shockwave, "I'd just expect you to have an _idea_ of what they were planning, seeing as you were on board for all that time."

"Well _shit_," I snarled, lining up another shot as I spotted a cluster of agents around a vehicle ahead, "I guess I should have paid more attention to the file marked '_Cerberus_ _Master Plan'_ on my desk, but I must've been too busy saving the damn _galaxy_!" I swung out of cover and fired, loving _everything_ about the feel of the heavy kickback after so long with nothing in my hands. My pistol was perfect, powerful but accurate, the kind of weapon that could cut a man's neck in half if your aim was any good, and my aim was the _best_.

"That's not what I meant!" He insisted, blue fire erupting over his hardsuit as he caught four agents in a singularity. He'd become a _lot_ more powerful since the last time we'd worked together, that much was obvious. A lot more confident too. He had a security with his own abilities that wasn't there the last time I'd fought with him. Now, he was happy to take point and tear their troops apart without waiting for me to catch up. Now, he wasn't looking for direction from anyone, and he sure as hell wasn't afraid to call me out, either. I wasn't sure if I liked it.

"Can you two _maybe_ save this for a time when we aren't getting _shot at_?" James yelled in disbelief.

The sounds of the approaching storm were starting to drown out the thud of crackling gunfire, and I said nothing more. Instead, I let my _work_ do the talking as I cut through their ranks like I _hadn't_ been sitting on my ass for six months. Muscle memory was a beautiful thing. And I had a new toy to play with, the marvel that was the blade grafted onto my omnitool. The knife that could come out in a split second, just when I needed it, and slice through the gaps in any armour. I made liberal use of it now, the part of me that was an honorary krogan _loving_ the feel of it sinking into flesh as I ripped their squads into pieces. Kaidan wasn't the _only_ one that had picked up a few new tricks along the way.

We fought our way inside, and as soon as the air had filled the elevator I wrenched my helmet off and took a deep breath. It had been a while since I'd worn one with a visor this narrow. I'd almost forgotten how uncomfortable they were, how unnatural it felt for there to be a screen between you and the target.

I turned to Kaidan as he took his helmet off and gave him a harsh look, hoping to burn away whatever suspicions he had, but instead he glared right back and _nothing_ about his stance said he was going to back down.

"Go on," I spat, heat rising to my skin, still prickling with adrenaline, "_say _it."

"Say _what_?"

"Say e_xactly_ what's on your mind," I insisted, "The reason you're so _goddamn_ suspicious of me, just _say_ it."

He sighed, as though he couldn't believe I even had to ask, "You _worked_ for Cerberus, Shepard, they brought you back to life, how the hell am I supposed to act like that didn't happen? How can I ignore that when their soldiers are right here where _you_ are, after the same thing as the Alliance at _exactly_ the same time?" I gave a sigh and rolled my eyes in exasperation as I turned back to the controls.

"Don't give me that," he snapped, his face stern, "this isn't _personal_, I'm an Alliance Major, _that's_ why I'm asking."

_Bullshit_ it wasn't personal, I thought. His voice might have let him get away with it, but Kaidan had never had a good poker face, and right now I could read him like a book.

"Then as an Alliance _Commander_," I seethed, "an N7 agent and a Council _Spectre_ I hope I'm perfectly clear when I say – _again_ – that I don't know why they're here, what they're after, _how_ they got in, who they're reporting to, the mission's codename, hell, I don't even know which _cell_ this is. Did I miss anything out?"

_You told them all that I had no reason to lie. You acted like you believed it too__, but clearly not enough. You vouched for me when everyone thought I was lying, but you can't even stand up for me now when I need you the most_.

"She's telling the truth, Major," James said suddenly, causing Kaidan to look up at him like he'd forgotten the other man was even there, "Shepard's been under surveillance for months, and she was with the Alliance voluntarily." Kaidan gave him a doubtful look, and James shrugged, "Look, all I know is Cerberus are anti-Alliance, and Shepard's _with_ the Alliance now, even though she's got no goddamn reason to be. They've run her name through the mud _twice_ now, but she's still fighting on our side. That's all the proof I need"

I glared at Kaidan, "See _that_?" I jabbed a finger in Vega's direction, "I've known him for _two months_. We've barely even spoken, but he still decided to _believe_ me instead of assuming I'm a _fucking_ terrorist! And _you_, you of _all_ people..." I broke off before it became painfully obvious that this wasn't just business to me either. Swallowing, I squared my face and looked at him with raw anger and determination burning up in my eyes, "Just _trust_ me this time. Please. Because I am _done_ explaining myself to you."

He opened his mouth to respond, closed it with a sigh, and looked at me as though he was trying to understand every part of me in that one glance, as if he could reach into my head and unravel my true motivations just so he could be _sure_. I understood why he was suspicious, _I_ would be too, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with, especially not coming from _him_.

"I'm sorry, Shepard," he said at last as the elevator ground to a halt, "it's just that-"

We turned in unison as a loud crash from the next room cut him off. I cocked my gun, gave him a hard stare as I moved past, and told myself that there would be time for all of this _later._

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

This was why I'd been unsure about accepting that first promotion to Lieutenant Commander. It was also why I'd been uneasy about commanding my own squad. It wasn't that I hadn't been in charge of soldiers before, or that I couldn't think for myself, it was because right now there was a war in my head between the man I was and the title I held, and I didn't know how to line them up. I wanted to tell her I trusted her, _of course_ I did, that I'd follow her wherever this mission led, however many times I'd have to swallow my suspicions and just believe that she was the woman I'd loved once upon a time, the woman who could still make my heart _pound_ in my chest with a single glance.

But the Major in me _insisted_ I hang back and wait, assess the situation before moving in. It wasn't easy knowing there was no one else you could blame for your mistakes, no one else to pick up the slack because _you_ were the last line of defence. If I trusted her completely, didn't question all the troubling new developments, and it all backfired…there would be no one to blame but _me_. I was a Major. I was the highest ranking Alliance official on the Normandy. It was my _job_ to be suspicious, to keep her at arms' length and not let my judgement be clouded by the husky sound of her voice over the commlink or the way she still fought like a vicious, demonic whirlwind of bullets, fists and blades.

She had to be vicious, I thought, because the Cerberus soldiers were gunning for _her_. We could hear them barking her name over their radios, yelling at each other to '_take Shepard down' _no matter the cost. It was futile, I thought. No one could take Shepard down, especially not a few unprepared Cerberus troops. _Especially_ not after she'd been locked up for six months and was itching for combat. It would be like trying to hold off a tornado with a cocktail umbrella. She still fought with the same methodical brutality, the same unique mix of light-footed grace and raw, dominating power. None of our enemies even had a chance.

The attachment to her omnitool had made me stop in my tracks the first time I saw it unfold itself from her arm and shatter into pieces as soon as she had finished piercing through the suit of a Cerberus agent, a battle cry ripping from her throat.

As ever, I could have watched her fight all day. Judging by the impressed, muttered curses I'd heard from James, he was a little in awe of her too. It was hard not to be when you were confronted with the best commando the Alliance had ever seen. When we entered a long corridor and saw their agents racing towards us in a tight formation, she came out from cover, took a split second to get her bearings, and fired three careful shots, taking down the three Guardians as the bullets buried themselves between the tiny gap in their shields. There was more to it, of course, but when people asked why Shepard was so good, the most obvious answer was that she had naturally _flawless _hand-eye coordination, an awareness of every part of her body and how it interacted with the world. In another time, another life, she would have been the perfect dancer.

It had been so long since we'd fought side by side that it was strange to notice that, without realising, we'd fallen into sync with each other, just as we'd used to. We barely needed to communicate, instead I'd look and she would just be _there_, right where she needed to be, expecting me to have done the same. It was, I thought, just like old times.

But now I was watching her talk to Liara as the asari hacked a console, and I was resisting the urge to listen in because I told myself I had no right, even as the Major in me insisted I should still be keeping an eye on her. I glanced over to where they were, caught Shepard's thoughtful expression, and saw how she spoke to Liara with an openness I hadn't seen from her in…years. She trusted the asari more than she trusted me, and it was my own damned fault and I had no idea how to make it right.

If I could just _know_ for certain one way or the other that she was legit, that she really was who she said she was and that she'd always had her heart in the right place despite all evidence to the contrary…then I could start to rebuild, but not before. I didn't know what it would take for her to prove herself to me. I didn't know why my Alliance uniform wouldn't let me just _follow_ her because that was all I wanted to do. The four months when I hadn't seen her had been hell, and I knew the distance had only made me doubt her more, even if all it had taken was one look from her to remind me that time hadn't dulled what I felt for the woman that had been my Commander.

I checked the perimeter again, saw nothing, and looked back at Shepard just in time to see her turning back to the console, breathing a heavy sigh as though she had the world on her shoulders.

No, I thought, not the world, the _galaxy._

She looked up suddenly, a quick glance as though to check I was still there, and seemed surprised when her eyes locked with mine, irises glinting like gold in the bright lights. She paused mid-sentence, her scarred lips pursed in thought, and as soon as she found the words to continue, she looked back to Liara and I was left feeling like a fool because all I could think of was how the stubble at the base of her skull would feel like velvet if I ever got close enough to run my fingers over it, and how I had no right to even _think_ anything like that because she was lost to me. But then she moved over to stand next to me as Liara's fingers clattered on the keyboard, and I felt the air around her shift as she let out a deep breath and relaxed her stance. In the air, I could catch the scent of vanilla, sharp, cold metal and a hint of _fire_.

Neither of us said a word, we just stood there in a watchful, oddly comfortable silence, simply enjoying the fact that we were both still alive and things were moving forward. I wanted to apologise for what I'd implied earlier, to let her know that, if this _was_ personal, then I'd have trusted her until the end, just like I used to. But now wasn't the time, and there was too much to say and this wasn't the place to say it.

After that little show of solidarity, moving through the facility with her was easier. We were able to talk to each other without snapping in frustration, she even told me, as I eased the helmet from a fallen Cerberus operative, that my idea had been a good one. But then a chill had shot sharply down my spine and I'd heard her fall silent as the drained, hollow face of a husk stared out at us where a human's should have been.

"Holy _shit_," she breathed, her voice a whisper as she brought a hand up to hover over the greying skin of his cheek, "what did you _do_?" Was she talking about the man the husk had once been, or the people that had done this to him? She touched the black, protruding veins around his eye sockets, her brows lowered in thought.

I watched as her gaze moved to her own gloved hand on his face, her lips falling open, jaw trembling as though none of her thoughts could order themselves. I saw the ideas slot together before my eyes. This soldier was Cerberus. She was rebuilt by Cerberus, I could picture it perfectly in my head, her lifeless body being sewn back together while she lay there, unconscious. They could have done _anything_ while she was in their hands, things that even Operative Lawson wouldn't have known about. It was becoming clearer and clearer that there were few lengths they wouldn't go to.

"Maybe they were trying to make more of _you_," I said, remembering the way the voice explaining the Lazerus Project had said they were making her stronger, _better_, the greatest soldier that had ever lived. Maybe her success had given them ideas.

"_What_?" she snapped out of her haze and suddenly I was the focus of her razor-sharp gaze.

"You're not all organic material, Shepard, maybe they learned a few things while bringing you back and thought they'd try it out again, just with a few more…enhancements," I chose the word carefully, hoping she'd understand my meaning, but instead she got to her feet and her stance was hostile as ever.

"Don't you _dare_ compare me to that fucking monster!" she seethed, lip curling back in a tooth-baring snarl, "I'm _nothing_ like that thing!"

But if you _were_, a ruthlessly logical part of me thought, you wouldn't even _know_ about it. You could be a sleeper agent, you could have code in your brain telling you what to do without you ever being aware. It could all be part of their plan. They could use you to bring us all down. There's nothing they won't do.

It hurt, it hurt _so much_ to even think that. It would mean that the woman in front of me, the one I couldn't _stand_ to see in pain, had been violated and reprogrammed and warped against her will. Her eyes were flashing, angry, but there was uncertainty there too, and that made my doubts come creeping back.

"I know that," I said, wanting to believe it, "But it was done by the _same_ people, and they're capable of anything. Hell, Shepard, that's _Reaper_ tech. They could have been working for them this whole time – why else would they be fighting against us?"

"_I_ am _not_ like that thing!" she seethed, but there was fear woven through the fire in her eyes, and it broke my heart to see. I told myself, again and again, that I was talking to _Shepard_, not Jena. Shepard, the woman who had been handed the fate of the entire galaxy and told to do her best. The woman I had to _know_ I could trust with a task so important, the most vital mission that anyone had ever been on, because there was _no one else_ to pick up the slack if she turned.

"What the hell do you want from me?" she asked, sounding miserable, "You want me to rip open my insides and show you the bits that ain't mine so you can make sure they're not bugged? Because I _already did that_."

There was nothing but cold, hard truth in her words, and I thought of the woman I'd loved on a Cerberus ship, racked with confusion and paranoia because there was no way to tell how extensive the rebuilding of her body and mind had been. Even watching the video of her reconstruction, I still wasn't sure – Operative Lawson hadn't been in charge of the whole thing, who knew what top secret modifications could have been added behind her back? I saw her now, cracking from the inside, desperate for security and certainty and someone to tell her she was doing the right thing and doing it well.

"I just want…" I paused, wanting to take her hand to show her I cared but knowing it would just make things worse. I wanted to ignore the fact that I was a Major and that _I_ was responsible if she turned out to be spinning lies or taking direction from a chip in her brain, and I wanted to kiss her, give in to how I felt every time I knew she was around. But I was an Alliance soldier through and through. That was the one thing I knew for sure, the one thing I could hold on to and say _this _was real and good, _this_ meant I was doing the right thing when so much else was uncertain. What did I _really _want from her? "I just _need_ some way of knowing that you're the same woman I followed to Ilos. Because I'd do it all again, a thousand times over. I just…I need to know."

There was a flash of pain in her eyes at the mention of that planet, and her next words froze on her lips. I realised suddenly that it was the first time either of us had brought up anything to do with _that_ night, or what had happened afterwards, how we'd fallen into each other and fit so perfectly that the only thing that could pry us apart was her death.

Even if parts of her had been lost, her memories were clearly still alive, and they still _hurt_. I could see it in the way she looked at me, with defiance and a childish sort of scorn where for _anyone_ else there would be total dismissive disbelief that they were even still _talking_. I hated that I'd ever hurt her. I hated that I still couldn't find the words to tell her how I felt, that I had to hurt her even _more _now just so I could be sure I wasn't falling into a trap.

"Words won't convince you of that," she said quietly, and I knew she was right.

There was a gap between us, so small. I could have leaned down and kissed her, it would have been the easiest thing in the world. It could have solved almost every problem there was between us, or she could have pushed me back, split my cheek open with her fist and told me not to try that shit with her again. I had no way of knowing, because I'd had my chance to get her back, and I'd chosen caution over passion. I'd fucked up and she'd closed off to me.

She'd taught me what passion really meant in the first place. She'd taught me that caution meant nothing when you lived your life on the edge – all you could do was trust in your own abilities to carry you through even the darkest storms. Caution hadn't landed me in her bed, or in her apartment. Caution hadn't gotten me promoted more in the last year and a half than in my entire career. All of it was because I'd trusted in myself, thrown my worries to the wind and trusted that what I was capable of would be enough.

That was the problem, though. I wasn't sure I _was_ capable of giving her up if I ever got her back again, and I _knew_ I wouldn't be able to look at this objectively as a Major when her deep, amber eyes were staring up at me in turmoil.

"Look," she said suddenly, teeth chewing on her lip for just a moment before she caught herself, "I'm on a mission, here. And I intend to follow through with it. But you _don't_ have to come along. Not if you have this much of a problem with me." She snatched up the helmet from the Cerberus operative and worked at dislodging its communicator.

"It's not _that_, Shepard," I rubbed at the back of my neck, at my implant itching from the sudden exertion, "It's not _you_ I don't trust, it's _them_. And I want to believe you, I do, but…don't you get why I _can't_ just take your word for it?"

She pried the communicator loose with more force than was necessary, "I _get_ it," she growled, "but that doesn't mean I want to put up with you second-guessing everything I do because you're pissed at Cerberus for playing with your _favourite toy_." I opened my mouth to respond, to tell her it wasn't _like_ that even though I knew that was part of it, but she looked up at me sharply and continued, "Oh wait, I forgot, this is just _business_, right, Major? Nothing personal?"

"Jena—"

"_Don't_," she snapped, eyes flashing dangerously as she raised a hand to cut me off, "Not now. I can't do this now. Just…just tell me I can trust you to watch my back while we're down here. That's all I need to know."

I shrugged slowly, helplessly, wishing I could snap my fingers and stop time so we could have a moment to ourselves. "I'm with you. I've _always_ been on your side, Shepard. And yeah, I know now isn't the time, but I just want you to know—"

"_Delta squad, report!"_ Her eyes flew to the communicator in her hand as a low, gruff voice barked out over the frequency. She didn't look at me as she brought the mic up to her mouth and spoke a reply. When the voice answered that they would open up the tramways, she gave me the briefest of glances before brushing past to where Liara sat in the next room.

_I just want you to know_, I thought, _that I still care about you as much as I ever did, and that all I want is to keep you safe, even if I can't make you happy._

Maybe it was a good thing I'd been cut off, I thought. She didn't need to hear that, or the rest of it.

_It's just…it's __hard caring about you so much when I have no idea if you still feel _anything _for me, and when I know you could turn out to be a timebomb that'll blow up in my face if I'm not careful._

I looked back at the husk, at its cold, dead eyes that had once been human. I thought of Jena's body, cut-up and burned to a crisp on an operating table, the scars now covering her skin that still hadn't quite healed, her beautiful amber eyes that were still so deep and bright and _warm_. No, I didn't think they were anything alike. In rare moments of total honesty, I knew that the idea that she had some kind of sleeper protocol programmed into her brain wasn't my _biggest_ fear when it came to the woman I'd loved.

_Actually, __I think I might _still_ be in love with you, and I don't know how to deal with it because you're right in front of me but I'm scared to touch you in case you crumble to dust and it turns out this is all too good to be true, just like before. I can't let you back in because to lose you again would kill me, and now we're in the middle of a goddamn war for the galaxy's very survival and you're at the helm and this is a distraction I know you don't need but _God_, Jena, I still miss you like hell and I care about you so much it hurts._

_I just want you to be safe. I just want you to be happy_.

Neither of those were options now. Not now, when Earth was burning and we were fighting through what felt like _hundreds_ of troops just so we could find plans for a weapon that could be our only hope to save _anyone_.

As always, though. Cerberus had got there first.

And then I saw it with my own eyes, the way she tensed up and spat adrenaline-fuelled fire as soon as she heard the voice of the Illusive Man, the one that had tried to control her and put her at the head of his own personal army. The one she'd left in the dust after stealing his ship and his crew and, apparently, blowing up a hub of priceless alien technology she'd thought too evil to exist.

"You're still short-sighted," he said dismissively, "running scared from the inevitable."

"And you're still _deluded_!" she snarled, jabbing a finger in his direction, "All this crap you try to feed people about helping humanity, it's all a big fucking lie because I'm right here _trying_ to help humanity by making sure we still have a _home planet_ and you're fighting against me!"

"I'm fighting against _ignorance_, Shepard," he shot back, "against the ham-fisted methods of you and your precious Alliance, you who would seek to destroy the things you don't understand like _fanatics_ burning books. You will understand one day, just as humanity will understand, that all the steps I have taken are in _our_ best interests. I'm making us better. This is our chance to rise to the top, to the _apex_ of human evolution."

"Oh shut the _fuck_ up!" there was a note of hysteria in her voice, laced with disbelief that she was actually having this conversation, "There's no _apex_ of evolution, you crazy asshole, and if you keep doing this there won't be _anything at all_ because we'll be wiped out! I'm trying to make sure we survive, and you're _wasting my time_. Don't you get that you're playing right into their hands? They've _got_ you, can't you see that? You spent so much time trying to understand them that they've made you see things their way, _just_ like Saren!"

"Saren was weak and misguided," he said simply, still with an aura of calm that stood in sharp contrast to the way her fists were clenching at her sides. "As are you. You think you have a chance, that you are somehow…_relevant_. But I made you. You were a tool, an agent with a singular purpose who has outlived her usefulness. You are disposable."

"Is that why I was able to steal the Normandy from under your nose? Go off-mission, take your hand-picked crew and prove you wrong?" His face was suddenly hard, resentful as though she'd proved a point he hadn't been expecting. "I told you once, fall in line or step aside, because if you get in my way I'll—"

"You'll _what_?" he demanded in the tone of a headmaster long since bored of arguing, "Hurl meaningless threats in the hopes anyone is actually listening?"

Her lip curled back to respond, but at that moment Liara shouted in alarm that someone nearby in the facility was deleting the data we'd come here for. I turned back to the Illusive Man just in time to see a triumphant smirk cross his face as his image fizzled into nothingness. The Cerberus agent was still _here_.

Shepard swore and broke into a run. I did the same in the opposite direction as we searched every alcove for the source.

I found her first, the doctor we'd seen on the surveillance footage, the Cerberus mole. I knew I should have taken her out as soon as she was in my sights, maybe not a kill shot but at least something to disable her. But shooting an unarmed, unarmoured person in the back when they didn't even know you were there was a line I wouldn't cross, so instead I held my gun tight and barked a warning for her to step away.

Pain lanced across my face as she turned, inhumanly fast, and caught my cheek with the sharp heel of her boot. With another rock-hard blow straight to my stomach I was on the floor, and could barely force enough air into my lungs to alert Shepard as the mole rushed off.

I scrambled to my feet just as Shepard sprinted past me, and the chase was on.

* * *

**Chapter 22: Memorial** – Shepard deals with the aftermath of what happened on Mars, but not well. Kaidan is happy when Shepard comes to visit him, but the distance between them just seems to grow wider.


	22. Memorial

Chapter 22: Memorial

_Shepard_

If it had been anyone else, _anyone_ in the world, I would have been fast enough. I just knew it. I wouldn't have hesitated for that one split second, and I'd have taken the shot. If it had been anyone else, I would have been sure of my aim, just as I'd _always _been so sure before, I'd have taken the bitch out before she had a chance to do any more damage.

I wouldn't have watched, frozen, as that thing had rammed his head into the burning shuttle again and again before I'd snapped back to reality and remembered how to fire a _fucking _weapon_._

But it had been Kaidan, and I'd panicked. I'd been too slow, I'd screwed up beyond belief, and he had paid the price.

I'd taken a moment to check he'd been fine as we picked ourselves up from the crash James had caused, and he'd nodded, shaken but unharmed. I'd turned around for just a second, and in that second things had gone to hell. Suddenly he'd shoved Liara behind him and that thing was still moving and his shots were just _bouncing_ off and it was choking him, cracking the armour around his neck, and I'd just _frozen_.

I'd had the shot, I'd barely had to think about it, but my finger had paused because in that instant I hadn't been sure whether I'd be able to hit _her_ without hitting him too. For that moment, I'd done nothing but shout, and a moment was all that thing had needed.

I pictured it over and over in my head until it hurt and my eyes stung sharply. I saw him slumping to the ground, _felt_ the way my breath became thick and tight in my lungs as I realised he _wasn't moving_ and on top of everything else that had happened today, this was just _too much_.

I'd told myself he was just another soldier as I'd hoisted him over my shoulders, gasping at the weight, and carried him to the ship as the Reapers swooped down around us. I'd told myself back on the Normandy that every war had casualties, even as I realised I'd been staring at his bruised and bloodied face without blinking for _minutes _as Liara had loosened his armour, my hands hovering, twitching uselessly by my sides.

But then I'd told Hackett what had happened, and he'd told me that we both knew it was just the beginning, like Kaidan was just another nameless, faceless casualty. I'd felt my teeth grind together because _yes_ I knew this was just the beginning and _yes_ I knew he was a soldier and these things happened and I should just deal with it but at that moment all I could think about was the horrible _gasping_ noise he'd made as the breath was forced out of him and how he was downstairs unconscious with the life draining out of him and I'd never get the chance to say all those things and it was _all my fault_…

"He'll be okay," James said suddenly, snapping me back to reality and easing the thrum of adrenaline in my ears as I watched Bailey get back into the elevator, "He's a tough sonnova bitch. He'll pull through."

"He almost died right in front of me, on _my_ watch," I replied flatly, turning towards the lieutenant and giving him a hard look, "Even if he _does_ pull through he could be paralysed, his biotics might be shot to shit, and right now him surviving is still a big fucking _if_."

Kaidan was in surgery now, three hours in, and I hadn't heard a damn thing. That couldn't be a good sign. Something must have gone wrong.

"Then why go to the Council now?" asked Vega with a shrug of his huge shoulders, "Hell, make 'em wait, go see the Major, see for yourself that he's okay."

"He's _not _okay," I snapped, pushing down the note of hysteria in my voice, "you _saw_ him, he—"

"He's stable," James cut in, and I found that I couldn't breathe. "They just told me now, while you were talking with Bailey. He's in intensive care, alive and recovering from surgery. It was close, but right now they think he'll be okay."

I clasped a hand over my mouth to stop the air from tumbling out in a long, ragged cry, and squeezed my eyes shut in relief as the thoughts hit me, one after the other. He was alive. He would be okay. I hadn't killed him. _Not yet_.

I regained my composure in seconds. "Good," I said quickly, swallowing the lump in my throat and glancing at my omnitool as though I had something important to check so Vega wouldn't see that I was shaking, "That's…that's good."

"So why not go see him?" James asked in a low voice, "See he's still breathing? Can't have been easy to watch him go down like that, it'll do you good to see he's okay."

I didn't like this. I didn't like the implication that James knew there was something more between Kaidan and I than the fact that we used to work together. I'd been careful so far to keep it all bottled up, but I supposed it would have been hard for him to ignore the way we'd snapped at each other just like ex-lovers with unfinished business. There hadn't been time to stop and think and reign it all in. I thought back to that morning, to Earth, the reason I was here in the first place, and I decided that maybe, just maybe, _this_ time I could get away with blaming it all on the stress.

I wanted to see him. Of _course_ I did, but I wasn't here for my own insignificant wants and needs. Earth was burning, and I was on a mission.

"Because it's a waste of time, and we don't have a lot of it to waste," I said sharply as I moved towards the elevator to where Liara was stood waiting, "I can serve all of us better if I get this meeting over with _now_. The sooner the better."

"_Hey_," he called, and I turned back, "Are _you_ okay?"

_No. No I'm not fucking _okay_, the man that I still care about who walked away and left this huge, raw space in my heart was just beaten half to death on my watch and it will only get _worse_. And I know I should probably just forget about him and cut him loose but for some reason I just _can't_ even though he still doesn't trust me and it hurts so much to even be around him, but it hurt so much more to see him dying in front of me and it's _all my fault.

I didn't answer him, because the only answers I could give out loud would all be lies. I glanced over his shoulder to the docks and saw the huge backlog of cruisers and ships waiting to land, laden with refugees and soldiers already chased from their worlds.

"Shouldn't you be on a shuttle halfway back to Earth by now?" I asked instead, my voice sounding exhausted to my own ears.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, "There ain't too many transports headed that way just now, y'know? Besides, until the brass tells me otherwise it's still my job to guard you, and after what almost happened on Mars I ain't leaving before you get some more crew on your side."

There was more I could have said to him, maybe a few words to let him know I was grateful he had my back even though there were places he'd rather be, but now wasn't the time. Instead, I nodded my thanks and stepped through the elevator doors to join Liara with a promise to message him when we learned more. I had no idea how long it would take to see the Council, but my hands were already clenching into restless, agitated fists so _something_ told me it wouldn't go well either way.

They hadn't believed me before, they'd _never_ been on my side, and now when I had proof it was too late to do anything but run away and regroup. This time, with Kaidan barely hanging on to life and worlds burning throughout the galaxy, being right really _didn't_ feel like a victory.

oOoOoOo

"I'm afraid you can't go in there," the nurse said helpfully as I approached the door, "visiting hours are over and in this unit it's family only." Her smile was falsely apologetic, and I glanced to the woman next to her who was giving me the same glassy, overworked expression designed to placate the general public.

With a sigh I brought up my omnitool and flashed my ID, the one with 'Spectre Status' and 'Alliance N7 Operative' in large, obnoxious capitals at the top.

"And…which of you would like to stop me?" I asked, just as politely as I glanced between the two of them with raised eyebrows.

The first woman's mouth fell open a little and she gave me a quick once-over to take in my Alliance fatigues, the scars running over my face and the stance that said I was going in whether she was conscious or not. With tight smiles and quick, flustered nods, they hurried on and left me alone in front of the double doors, wondering if any of this had been a good idea.

No one else knew I was here. I was supposed to be hurrying back to the Normandy so we could head to Menae and find the Primarch, but they needed time to refuel and add to the skeleton crew that had come with us from Earth, so I had a few hours to myself.

I'd intended to resolutely _ignore_ the fact that Kaidan was right here in the hospital. It seemed too self-indulgent, too _stupid_ to go and see him, no matter what James had said. But that was before I'd found myself wanting to _scream_ at the Council, before I'd bickered with Udina like I didn't have anything better to do, and _before_ I'd had to swallow my pride and make nice with Khalisah al-Jilani as though people actually needed a _reason _to support a war that was the only barrier between them and _total fucking extinction_.

That morning, I'd watched Earth get invaded, and I'd left them all to die. It would be well past midnight on Earth by now, but on the Citadel the day cycle had only just begun and the artificial lights seemed intensely bright. I hadn't slept. I hadn't eaten. I hadn't had a single moment that wasn't taken up with the war that was now suddenly on all our doorsteps. And so, I thought to myself, I deserved just a _little_ self indulgence.

I locked the door behind me, and with my omnitool I dimmed the windows that looked onto the rest of the ward so no one could see I was here. And then, with my heart in my throat, I slowly turned to see him lying there, looking just as bad as before, hooked up to a dozen machines and still not moving.

It felt like I was watching a report of some horrible accident, the kind filled with flashes of gruesome images that somehow don't look _real_. Every part of his face and neck was covered in bruises and cuts, and he looked…he looked half-_dead_. Under the bright lights, the colour of his skin had paled to something close to ice blue, and though he was breathing, the sound was shallow, strained. His face looked like it'd been battered with a meat tenderiser and dragged across the ground. Cold, sharp air prickled across my skin and coiled around my heart as I stood there, motionless.

And then I remembered that there was no one here but him and me, and that he wouldn't be waking up for a while so, really, it didn't matter what I said or did or—

I let out the breath I held in one great, shuddering gasp and felt myself deflate with the sudden release of tension. He was alive. He was _alive_.

But he'd almost died. It hurt to stare straight at him like this, to take in what I'd done, what my mistakes had cost me, but I didn't let myself look away, I _couldn't_.

_Look what you did_, I told myself, _look at his face, at his eyes that won't open. Look what you did, own it, feel it, don't ever let it happen again. Not ever. You can't afford these kinds of distractions, you can't afford to—_

This was the pain that caring had caused.

_You can't afford to care like this_.

I dragged a chair over to his bed mechanically, but didn't sit down. My limbs felt heavy, and my skin was damp and chilled and itchy as though I'd had too many artificial stimulants.

I wanted to blink and wake up and have this all be some horrible nightmare. I wanted to _escape_.

There was dried blood under his nose and crusted around the cuts on his neck where that _thing_ had almost crushed the life from him. They'd had to act quickly, there were other patients coming in. They hadn't had much of a chance to clean him up or do anything but repair the worst of the damage around his neck and shoulders and let the medi-gel do its work. This wasn't right, I thought. He shouldn't look like a corpse when he was an Alliance Major, a hero in his own right, a good man who had almost died trying to save Liara and following my orders.

As if in a daze, I headed over to the nearby sink and tore my eyes away from him long enough to rip a cloth from a sterile packet and dampen it with water. I glanced over to the door to make sure it was still locked and then, feeling like a foolish, sentimental, stupid _weakling_, I sat down in the chair by Kaidan's bed, and dabbed at his face with a tenderness I didn't know I still had inside me.

It was still my secret little indulgence, the way I felt about him. The way my heart would swell up with affection whenever I saw his face, and then contract with bitterness when we fought.

_This is where caring gets you_, I told myself, even as I brushed the cloth under his eyes and wished they would just open so he could ask me what the hell I was doing because at least then he'd be talking. _This is what happens when you let people in. You can't shove them out again, no matter what happens and when you fuck up and they get hurt it feels so much worse than you could ever imagine._

"It's not fair," I said suddenly, my cracked voice sounding far too loud in this serene place where the silence was only punctuated by the beeps of the heart monitor, "You've…you've had a two year head start on getting over whatever the hell it was that we had. You're over it, it's all ancient history to you, you can look at me and just see Commander Shepard like you're supposed to, but…I'm not over it yet. It's still raw. And I still…I still care about you far, far more than I should, even if you're a total _ass_ about it all."

He said nothing. He did nothing. His breath was steady but harsh as I dabbed the cloth under his nose and cleaned away the last trickle of blood.

"And I don't know how to deal with it," I went on, not sure how to stop, "this hasn't ever happened to me before, I've never…_cared_ about someone like I still care about you."

I put the cloth aside once I was satisfied that the only thing marking his face was the multitude of dark bruises and raw, angry gashes. Now he just looked like he'd been beaten to a pulp instead of actually being at death's door.

I brought my hand to his face and stopped just short of actually touching him. And then I told myself it didn't matter, there was no one around, and I let my fingers lightly, carefully trace his scars, old and new. There was that one on his lip, crossing through the left side of his mouth. It was faded, hardly noticeable, but I remembered it perfectly, because one morning, a lifetime ago, I'd woken up and he was sleeping right there next to me, an arm draped over my waist, and as I'd leaned in to kiss him I'd realised that the batarian hunting knife that had sliced open my mouth had left a scar that lined up perfectly with his own when our lips were pressed together. In those days, I'd been fascinated with how we could be so different and so alike at the same time. How it was that a man as vanilla and reliable and _good _as Kaidan had managed to pry me open and wrap himself around my heart.

Back then, I hadn't cared, I'd just wanted him to stay forever, for me to never have to lose that feeling that welled up every time he was around. Now, I found myself wishing I'd never met him. I wished I'd never let him in so I wouldn't have to try _so hard _to shut him out.

"This is all your fault," I said with a sad, defeated smile, "I can't just push it all aside like I used to, and I don't know why. I think you broke me."

I trailed my fingers up to his hair and brushed it back, seeing for the first time the few strands of silver at his temples. There were new lines at the corners of his eyes too, faint and shallow but still there.

It was then I realised that while I'd been asleep for two years being rejuvenated and improved, he'd been working and living and _fighting_ for his life. Without the Normandy and without me.

My eyes stung, and my voice was close to a whisper, "You didn't come out unscathed, though, did you?"

I scooted my chair closer, _too_ close, and lay my head on the pillow next to his, my fingers brushing over his hairline.

"I know…I know it was hard. Me dying. I wish none of it had happened, for more reasons than one. Because I can't tell anyone this, but I didn't just lose time, you know, I lost _you_ too. I lost something I never thought I could even _have_, and for some stupid fucking reason that hurt even more than the Alliance shunning me, or finding out that two of my limbs aren't even mine, or that there's nothing to look forward to when you die, just…more darkness everywhere you look."

"I lost you," I said quietly, "And I don't even know if I want you back, because to get you back I have to admit I ever lost you in the first place, and seeing as this is the first time I've actually let myself _think_ this stuff let alone say it out loud, I don't think that's going to happen any time soon." I found his hand, beaten and bruised, and cradled it between mine, wishing I could brush away every mark until he was whole and healed again. "I don't know _what_ the hell I want from you, Kaidan. I want to stop feeling like this every time I look at you. I just want you to be happy and safe, and I don't know if either of those are possible when you're around me. I...just seem to get people hurt."

I brought his hand up to my face and flattened his limp palm against my cheek, his fingers rough and dry but still feeling _perfect_ against my skin. My eyes fell closed, and I allowed myself that one, pure moment of peace. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was pointless, that it would just hurt _more _later. I knew full well that this was just a stupid addict's last wild ride before they swore to themselves that they were done for good, a senseless indulgence that did nothing but fan the flames.

I brushed my lips over the centre of his palm, over another scar I still remembered. I kissed his skin and I wished – I _wished_ – I could just do this when he woke up, tell him how _terrified _I'd been when he went down, instead of hiding myself away in shame and futile frustration because I was too much of a coward to tell him how I felt.

When he woke up, I knew things would be just as they were when he was knocked out. He'd be polite, _kind_, even, and he'd do his very best to try and forge some kind of working relationship where we could talk to each other without sniping and shouting, where we could fight side by side just as we used to, and he wouldn't realise that it was all pointless because I still felt _exactly_ the fucking same as I had when he'd left my cabin that one morning before everything had changed. He wouldn't understand that I couldn't look at him and see just a squadmate, not now when the world was falling down around me and all I wanted was to curl up in his arms so he could tell me we were in this together, he'd share it all with me and everything would be _fine_.

He was right in front of me, but I couldn't have him, and it hurt like hell. I gathered up all my resolve, I placed his hand back down by his side, I stood up, took a deep breath, and I told myself that this was _it_. The end. From now on, I'd stop pining and I'd let him go. For good this time.

I picked up the soiled cloth and threw into the sink decisively. And then I took a step back and cleared my throat, like he was just another soldier, just another person I hadn't been fast enough to save.

"You need to get your ass out of that bed, Major," I said sharply, imagining he was awake so I could look at him in anger instead of mindless, doe-eyed affection, "Get your ass out of bed and _fight_ because I swear to god I am _not_ doing this alone. I…" my stupid, treacherous heart failed me, and I found my voice breaking into a whisper, "I can't do this without you. I need to know you're okay. I need—"

I broke off and shut my lips tight together. _Get it together, you fucking sap._

Squaring my shoulders, I tried again. "I need you back on your feet. That's an order."

I realised, dimly, that I'd only added the last part in the hopes that he'd wake up and tell me that, since he was a Major, I couldn't order him around any more. It was one thing to _say_ it was over, I thought as I left the room with a dark scowl on my face, and another thing to truly _believe_ it.

oOoOoOo

"You really must find a better way to relieve stress," Chakwas said with a frown as she critically examined the healing bruise on my cheekbone where James had caught me off-guard, "and not just for _your_ benefit. Lieutenant Vega's lip needed two stitches."

"Only two?" I replied absently, remembering how for a moment I'd been worried I'd hurt him when I'd booted him around the face and used the force of his backwards stumble to flip him onto the floor. He may not have cared if he got hurt, but while he was under my command, _I_ sure as hell did. Especially since it was my fault he'd been so goddamn suicidal in the first place. If I'd made a sacrifice like that only to find out it had all been for nothing, I'd have been pissed too. Hell, I was _still_ pissed at the Alliance for ignoring all my warnings. I'd told him just that, and I'd said that if he stuck around I'd help him prove himself, regain whatever honour or pride he thought he'd lost.

He'd called me _Lola_, and I swear to god if it had been _anyone_ else in the galaxy I'd have punched him again, but I had a strange little soft spot for James. He was an experienced soldier, but he was younger than me and had some of that spitfire attitude that I'd had back then, before I learned what words like 'compromise' and 'humility' meant. I still didn't _like_ those words, but now that I had to play the diplomat I found they were suddenly very important. There was something close to flirtation in how we spoke to each other, but not quite. It was more like a mutual need to make the world just a little more light-hearted. Sure, there was a hefty dose of pure physical appreciation thrown in, but there was no more to it than that. Maybe in another time we'd have come up with a mutually beneficial arrangement, use each other as a welcome distraction, but there was a problem, and that problem was Kaidan Alenko unconscious in a hospital, every hour with no news reminding me that I still cared about him more than I'd ever admit to _anyone_.

"One last thing," Chakwas said suddenly as she glanced up from my file, "seeing as they clearly didn't know how to look after you in Vancouver."

She took a swab and cleaned a tiny portion of my arm in preparation for a shot.

"They wouldn't even let me go to the gym until I got Vega," I said resentfully. Chakwas tutted in annoyance and stripped the packaging from a syringe she retrieved from a nearby draw. I recognised it immediately – it was the standard shot that female operatives were supposed to have every six months or so while on duty, a mix of hormones that regulated your cycle, eased physical symptoms of PMS and generally made being a woman on an Alliance cruiser much less of a pain in the ass. It also prevented pregnancy, because apparently the Alliance doctors had a much worse opinion of our ability to follow frat regs than the Alliance themselves.

"This may prick a little," she said as she tapped the syringe.

I almost burst out laughing, "Are you serious?" After the injuries I'd been through before, many of which _she'd_ had the pleasure of patching up, a simple shot was a walk in the park.

She gave a shrug and looked at me like a world-weary mother tending to a scraped knee. "Your body goes through enough on a daily basis, Commander. I don't like to pile on, that's all." I barely felt it as the needle slipped in, and just like that the exam was over with. "Right!" she exclaimed, snapping off her gloves and glancing over at my file, "You're all done. Tip-top shape as always, though your reflexes are a little slow."

My head whipped up, "What?"

"Well they're still abnormally _fast_," she said nonchalantly, "I just mean slow for _you_, Commander. With your erratic sleeping patterns, though, it's to be expected that you wouldn't be functioning at full capacity." She looked at me and her face was the picture of innocence, but I knew better. This was what she did _best_. She'd been my doctor for around a year, all in all, and in that time she'd learned that the only way to get me to listen to medical advice was to let me work out for myself that it would impact how good I was on the battlefield.

I scowled as I snatched up the box of sleeping pills she'd already placed on the side. "Fine, I'll take them. It's only because I've been on Earth for too long – the natural sunlight fucks up my sleeping patterns. I'll be back to normal soon enough."

She also had the irritating ability of being able to tell when I was lying, but she knew better than to say anything about it. The truth was that I wasn't sleeping because every time I closed my eyes I was visited by the ghosts of all the people I'd been too slow to save, I'd hear their voices whispering to me one after the other, and I'd jolt awake feeling like I'd aged ten years overnight. Besides, there wasn't time for sleep. There was too much to _do_.

"There was one more thing," she said as I got to my feet, "Although the time you spent on Earth helped, your body is still having difficulty with the implants, particularly those around your face as they're a little more complex. You're not in any danger, they're all still working fine, but you've probably noticed the scars haven't fully healed."

"Is that a problem?"

"Only if you mind," she answered, "I know you were rather attached to the facial scars you used to have, but these are rather more…_extensive_." That was one word for it. The angry crimson gashes that I'd seen for the first time when I'd woken from my two-year beauty sleep had faded into dark, reddish lines that curved up my left cheek and around my eye socket. "If you're interested, there a few simple procedures to help them fade a little, maybe even remove them entirely. If the Cerberus scientists had had the time to finish their work, you wouldn't have had them to begin with."

I glanced in the mirror to one side, taking in the patchwork of marks that sliced over my skin, eclipsing the old ones that I knew so well. I probably should have cared more about my appearance than I did, but I'd never wanted to be pretty. For a while, I'd only wanted to be feared and respected, I'd shaved my head and smudged black on my eyes like it was war paint. Now, I just wanted to look like _myself_.

"Last I checked I was a soldier not a supermodel," I pulled a sweatshirt over my top and shrugged, "I like the scars. I don't want to pretend that nothing happened to me, or that I didn't die. I want everyone who looks at me to be able to see the price of war. Survival isn't supposed to be pretty."

Chakwas was looking at me as though she'd reach out and sweep it all away if she could. It was a look I'd seen on so many people before, but from them it was a kind of misguided sympathy that I hated, as if they knew _anything _about my life. From her, it was a deep level of understanding that this job we had was harsh and punishing and too much for _anyone_ to handle, but that someone had to do it, and for better or worse it had been given to _us_.

"Out of interest," she said after a while, gliding over to her desk, "are we expecting Major Alenko to come back to the Normandy once he recovers?" The look she gave me out of the corner of her eye made it _abundantly_ clear that the question wasn't as innocent as she made it sound.

"That's up to him," I replied, as though I hadn't been batting that same question around in my head since I saw him at the hospital, half-dead and beaten to a pulp, "I don't know if he'll want to, and I don't know if he'll still be a good fit here, he might be better off somewhere else."

"You're joking, surely?" she cried at once, "Commander, I know I'm not on the ground myself, but I still remember that the two of you worked _exceptionally_ well together. It was Anderson's decision to station him on the Normandy in the first place. I'd have thought he'd be a good influence on you." She nodded towards the sleeping pills in my hand, "_Calming_."

I shrugged non-committally, "It's been a while since I worked with him, that's all." Chakwas had defected to Cerberus to help me. She'd also had to defend herself to the Alliance and insist that she wasn't a traitor. She'd understand better than most. "Things change," I continued, "he still hasn't forgiven me for _betraying_ the Alliance to save the colonies."

She looked down to my file and sighed, "Kaidan is…he's a good man, but he's conflicted. He's honourable, and principled to a fault, but he's never been as sure of himself as you are, not enough to follow through with his own beliefs without some kind of _push_. He's never…taken up as much _space_ as you. You can't blame him for hanging back over his suspicions about Cerberus, _I_ was suspicious of Cerberus even though I wore their uniform, as were you."

Her words hit home as truth, but I didn't want to believe her. I didn't want to feel sorry for him and the clash between his beliefs and his uniform, I wanted to be _angry_ at him still, even though the last time I'd seen him all I wanted was to see his eyes open so I could tell him I wasn't angry at all.

"Why exactly are you telling me this?" I asked indifferently.

"Because I thought you might like to know that he's woken up," she replied, watching my face for a reaction that I shut down immediately.

I pushed down the lump that rose up in my throat. When I found my voice, it was light, casual, as though she were telling me a boring anecdote at a dinner party, "Really?"

"Yes, I've still got friends in Huerta Memorial and they've been keeping an eye on his progress. He's still sleeping a lot, but during the times he regained consciousness he's been lucid, and that's a _very_ good sign considering most of the damage was around his head. It's unlikely he'll be ready for visitors just yet, but perhaps when you're done on Menae you'd consider stopping by the Citadel…?"

"I'll…see if I have time, I guess." I shrugged, "I need to debrief him at the very least, he should know what happened on Mars."

My nonchalance wasn't fooling her at all, and she gave me a long, probing look. "I know things have been..._tense_ between the two of you since you were brought back, Commander, and it's none of my business, but just go easy on him. Not because of his injuries, not because he can't take it, but…because his reservations, his doubts about all this…they come from a good place. He wants to do what's best for the Alliance, and for you. He'll come around eventually, don't worry."

And if he did, _then_ what? What would I even do? That wasn't the only barrier between us, and right now the rest of it seemed absolutely insurmountable. As each new day unfolded, the horrifying _scale_ of this mission became clearer and clearer. As did my role at the head of it all.

My voice sounded so much lighter than I felt. "I guess we'll see."

With that, I left the med bay and didn't stop to look at anyone as I hurried to the elevator. When I was back in my cabin I flung the plastic bottle of pills at my bed and watched it shatter as it smashed against the wall instead. My breath came hard and fast as I stood there, staring at the little pills dotted around the shards of plastic scattered on the blanket.

I didn't want to hope. I didn't want to believe that it would all be fine with Kaidan and this ridiculous plan and the summit and then have none of it come true. It hurt too much. All of it hurt too much, and no matter what I did I'd always be fucking _something_ up.

If I confronted him, told him everything that ran through my head when I saw him, I risked losing _everything_, all the confidence, the self-respect, the aura of invincibility I'd built up around myself that allowed me to walk into a room full of Councillors, tell them they were all full of shit and get away with it. If I ignored him, forced myself to keep him at arms' length, just far enough so it was safe but close enough to _almost_ touch...that would be even worse.

I wonder if this was how he'd felt, to know that I was not just awake but _alive_. When you weren't around someone you could be as melodramatic as you liked, but when they were right _there_, right in front of you, looking you in the eyes and reminding you that they were their own, separate person with unique motivations and desires and fears...all you could really do was try to ignore how much it hurt, because they didn't owe you _anything_ more.

Joker's voice came over the intercom a moment later to say we would be getting near Menae soon, and that I should suit up. I kept my eyes on the pills strewn on the bed, and thought of how much I wanted to let it all go and just _sleep_.

But there was no time for sleep. There never was. After Menae I suddenly had the new turian Primarch on my ship, and, as always, the fighting wasn't the hard part – it was convincing others that we were on the same goddamn _side _afterwards. He was a military man, not a politician, and that made it easier, but he'd understood in minutes what had taken me years – when you become a leader against your will, your own needs stop mattering because suddenly there's millions – _billions_ – of people who would die if you refused to step up.

At least Garrus was here. The friendliest face I'd seen in so long. I hadn't been able to stop myself from grabbing his hand and pulling him into an embrace, needing something physical to convince myself that, even though Palaven was burning, he was _alive_. Having him back on the Normandy was a weight off my mind. We could sit in companionable silence together, both of us taking comfort from the fact that the other understood how it was all just...very _difficult_.

I told him what had happened to Kaidan, how I'd been too slow and he had paid the price. Garrus hadn't said anything stupid like 'it wasn't your fault' or 'there was nothing you could have done', which I appreciated because, after all, he hadn't _been_ there. Instead he told me that Kaidan would want me to carry on and do what I did best, make it so when we got him back on the Normandy I'd be able to tell him he was an idiot for getting himself knocked out and missing so much galactic history being made.

If we'd never spent those short months wrapped up in each other, if we'd never crossed that line, that was _exactly_ what would have happened. We'd had that kind of relationship a long time ago, but I didn't know if it was possible to go back, I didn't even know if I _wanted_ go back because a stubborn, childish part of me still insisted that I could fix the rift between us and we could be something _more _than that again.

That was what I'd been mulling over when I walked past the CIC and Samantha told me Kaidan had sent a message to my personal account. That meant he was awake enough to think of me, and was recovered enough to type. The relief that came with both of those thoughts started to chip away at the resentment I still held towards him. After watching Palaven burn, holding onto grudges felt pathetic somehow.

When I opened his message and the words flashed up on the screen, real and meant just for me, I couldn't stop the tiniest of smiles from crossing my face and breaking through the stormclouds above my head.

_Hey __Shepard,_

_They won't let me out of here any time soon, but they tell me I can at least have visitors. I know you might not have time, but if you're in the Citadel in the next few days it'd be good to see a familiar face, if only so I can thank you. No one knows how I survived that beating on Mars, but they said you getting me here so fast saved my life . Guess I owe you one again, right?_

_Come by if you can. I need your advice on something._

_Stay safe out there,_

_Kaidan_

Stay safe. I was hurling myself in front of creatures five times my size welded together from the bodies of fallen allies and he was telling me to stay safe. Strangely enough, it made me feel better, as if there was one more person who wanted to see me alive, and not just because of what I could do.

And then I thought of him on the Citadel, and an uneasy feeling erupted right in the pit of my stomach. He was alone there, still broken and bed-ridden. If they attacked, if the Citadel wasn't ready – it certainly hadn't _seemed_ ready last time I'd been there – I didn't know what would happen to him. Everyone thought it was so well protected, but I'd seen it almost ripped to shreds by just _one_ Reaper. My job wasn't exactly free of hazards, but with its stealth systems the Normandy was probably the safest place anyone could call home these days. I couldn't say the same about the Citadel. It was too valuable to leave alone for long.

I'd go see him, I decided. If only so I could find out why he needed my advice. That was a good enough excuse, a pretence I could hide behind so I could drink in the relief that would come with seeing his eyes open again. At least, I thought, there was one person I'd been fast enough to save.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

"Good!" Emily exclaimed, her eyes bright and cheerful as she watched the blocks revolving around in the air in front of me, hovering just above my hand, "Your control is still _remarkable_, so it looks like there's not much permanent damage to your implant."

The smile she gave me was wide but a little tight, as thought it was forced. I hadn't expected to see Emily ever again, but when a high-level L2 biotic had an amp almost crushed into scrap metal, who else could they call on the Citadel but the best L2 specialist there was? She'd told me already that there were no hard feelings after our solitary date, that she understood the life I led didn't exactly offer much _stability_. At least, she'd said jokingly, I had _her_ to patch me up.

I let out a breath and the blue around the blocks fizzled out as they dropped into my hands. When she took them from me, her fingers brushed my palm and something flickered in her eyes. I wondered if she had some romanticised ideal of this whole war, where I was the wounded soldier and she was the kind, patient caregiver nursing me back to health. Emily wasn't the kind of doctor that got sent to the front lines, she hadn't seen anything like the devastation on Earth and beyond. She was still young at heart and, I thought when she looked back up at me, still hopelessly naïve.

"I'll need to make a few more tweaks," she continued, "but I'm hoping we'll be able to get you back up to full functionality soon."

"Good to hear," I replied neutrally, pleased that my fears about being useless as a soldier had been unfounded. They told me I'd almost been paralysed from the neck down. I couldn't think of anything worse than watching the war happen from a hospital bed. At least now I knew I'd be able to get out soon enough, though I'd have to wait until my shoulder fractures had healed.

_And then what?_ I thought as Emily scanned the back of my neck while I performed a few quick biotic tasks. _Will I go back on the Normandy again? Will I even be welcome there_?

There was that _other_ thing to think about, too. The offer that I hadn't told anyone about yet, because I wanted to tell _her_ first. I wanted her blessing before I stepped up next to her as one of two human Spectres and claimed my place in history. Three years ago I'd never have imagined that I'd be a Major, let alone in line to become a Spectre. Now, the question had barely fazed me. I knew I was good enough. The only reservation I had came from my past with the only other Spectre I knew. I needed to talk to her first.

As if she'd read my mind, the doors to my room slid open, and though I couldn't turn to look, I'd recognise those light, purposeful footsteps anywhere.

"Shepard?" I called, trying to look in the window to catch her reflection and cursing the bright, artificial lights outside.

"I...is this a bad time?" Her voice was strangely subdued, as if the days of brutal fighting had sucked some of the life from her.

"Oh—Commander Shepard!" Emily said in surprise, stepping back and taking her hands from my implant. I turned to see Shepard standing there, one hand fiddling with the other, looking at me uncertainly and ignoring the other woman. Our eyes locked, and the ghost of a smile crossed her face for just a moment, something close to relief. I'd almost forgotten how beautiful she was.

"Could you give us a moment?" I asked Emily, my eyes still trained on Shepard. Emily looked between the Commander and I as though she was going to reply, but apparently thought better of it and gave a clinched smile before gathering her files and hurrying off.

"Hey," I breathed as the doors closed behind her. Shepard wandered over and dropped into the chair by my bed with one leg crossed over the other.

"Hey," she replied casually, as if the last time we spoke hadn't been a shouting match just before I'd been beaten to a pulp. "So what's this thing you want to talk about?" she asked suddenly, glancing to one side absent-mindedly, "I saw Udina on his way out, gave me a hell of a glare, but he wouldn't tell me what was up."

"I don't get a 'how are you?'" I replied with a smirk, only half-joking. I hadn't expected her to fall to her knees in relief or anything, but I hadn't expected _this _either. And then I noticed the hard set of her jaw, the way her eyes were looking at anything but me, and I knew there was far more going on in her head than she would ever let on.

"You're talking, right?" she quipped with a shrug, her eyes flicking up to mine as her fingers fidgeted idly. I kept looking at her, and eventually she breathed a sigh, "Okay, fine, how're you doing?"

"Doc just told me my amp wasn't shattered. So not only will I be able to walk again soon, but I'll be able to use my biotics. Full capacity." I paused. "It's 'cause of _you_, you know? They said if it'd been any longer there's a good chance the damage to my nerves would be irreparable."

"I...good," her face was still solemn, hard, but there was a lump in her throat and she was doing her best to stop me from noticing, "That's good. I'm glad to hear it."

I remembered how beaten and cut-up I looked, even now. I knew full well how much she hated people getting hurt on her watch, how she'd always insist that she could have done something better or _faster_ to stop it. Right now the many shoulder fractures meant I was still pretty much immobile, but she didn't have to know that. She had enough to worry about.

"That means I'm okay, Shepard," I said softly, "That means nothing got broken that can't be fixed. Hell, if it were up to me I'd be out of here by now, I feel fine, it's just the doc says I have to hang around for a few more tests, and-"

"You almost _died_, Kaidan," she snapped, suddenly forceful, "On my watch. You're still not _fine_ and-" she broke off, muttering a curse, "Sorry. It's just...been a hell of a week, you know?"

"I know," I replied after a while, keeping my voice soft. She didn't look up, but even so I noticed the bags under her eyes, the paleness of her skin, and it hurt to see. I saw her glance towards the chart by the side of my bed, the one that detailed how they'd pulled me back from the brink of death. I wondered who had dragged me aboard the Normandy, who'd administered the first aid that let me cling on to life until I got here. I wondered if it had been as scary for _them_ as it had been for _me_ to drag Shepard from the Cerberus base, blood gushing from her wounds that left scars which were no longer there.

"_Shepard_," I said more forcefully, reaching out on impulse to cover her hand with mine, _needing_ to touch her after all that had happened since we fled from Earth, just to convince myself she was still real. Her gaze lifted to see me, and there was a dull, sad sheen to her eyes. If I could have stood, I'd have told her to swap places with me just so she could get some _rest_. "I got rattled, it was close, but...I'll be okay. I'll be out of here soon."

She opened her mouth to reply, but closed it just as quickly, slipping her hand back out from under mine and crossing her arms tightly together as she leaned back in her chair, curling in on herself.

"And then what?" As usual her face gave very little away, and I tried to ignore the stab of sadness I felt at her pulling away from me. I couldn't tell if she was asking me to come back aboard the Normandy or if she _wasn't_ directly asking because she didn't want me there at all. Her face had always been hard to read – the only part of her that gave anything away were those rich, amber eyes, and right now they were heavy and lifeless with physical and emotional exhaustion. I already missed the feel of her small fingers in my hand.

"I'm still not sure," I said honestly, "Right now I just want to get out of this damn hospital room and back into the fight. After seeing what happened on Earth I just feel useless stuck in here. Every day new casualty figures come through. I just…I need to save _some_ of them, at least. I need to do something."

"What were you doing before the Reapers hit?" she asked, her hands fiddling with each other in a twitchy, nervous gesture that seemed out of place on a woman like her, "That big secret mission on the Citadel you couldn't tell me about. Is it less classified now that I'm a Commander again?"

"I'd have told you back _then_ if I'd known, but Anderson wouldn't say a word until I got there. He got me to lead the First Special Operations Biotics Division programme, get some of the most talented young biotics in the Alliance together and see what they can do. I guess it's kind of like the Ns, but we haven't got a letter designation for it yet, and with the war…I'm not sure what it is, but hopefully my students should all still be together somewhere. I want to see if I can find them."

"Your _students_, huh?" she raised an eyebrow, the one with those two scars slicing perfectly through the outer tip, "Makes sense – you're who _I_ would've picked. The only other human biotic I know who's half as good as you doesn't really have the…_temperament_ for teaching."

"That means a lot, Shepard," I replied, taking whatever positivity I could_ get_ from her, "I was surprised when he asked, but Anderson said it had to be me, wouldn't take no for an answer, and…you know it was actually pretty fun, once I got used to it." I gave her a half smile, "And after working with an N7 I like to think I picked up enough tricks to pass on and make my students worthy of a Spec Ops title."

She scratched at the back of her head, over the stubble that had been recently shaved back, and shifted in her chair uncomfortably. "Is…that what you wanted my advice about?"

"Actually…it's a little bigger than that." She looked at me expectantly, but I knew she wouldn't anticipate what I'd say next. "Shepard…I've been asked to become a Spectre."

She couldn't hide the way her eyes widened in surprise, how her lips fell open just a little at the announcement. She was shocked, _speechless__,_ even, and I could understand why. When I'd first met her there was no way in hell I'd last as a Spectre, I'd been hesitant, unsure of myself or my place. Now, though, I was different. I'd grown confident, decisive, _direct_ – in short, I'd become more like her. I was also _stronger_. Probably one of the best biotics the Alliance had. She knew it, too, because after a moment her lips closed, she nodded, and she looked almost…proud, but reluctantly so, like she couldn't bring herself to lie about it even though she wanted to.

"You should take it," she said simply.

I looked back at her neutrally, wondering if there was a stronger reaction buried just beneath the surface of her expression. "You think so?"

"I…honestly can't think of anyone better," her tone suggested she'd certainly _tried_, and I did my best to take it as a compliment, "You'd be perfect, probably much closer to what they're looking for than I was at the time."

"So you're okay with it?"

"What makes you think it's my decision?" She shrugged, twisting her lips into a sarcastic little smirk, "You think I can't handle the competition? Please, Alenko, you might be good, but I can still take you." She deflected it with humour, brushing her hand through the air as if it meant nothing, but something told me she was being sincere.

"You set the bar pretty damn high, Shepard." I thought of how I'd been in awe of her, at the very _idea _of working alongside the first human Spectre and being a part of the incredible things she did. Within months she had gone so far past every expectation that she'd left them in the dust behind her. "But...you're right. I should take it. I mean why the hell not, right? There might not be another chance for something like this. I just hope my biotics are up to it by the time they want me to start."

"I thought they were fine?" Her voice was suddenly hard, demanding, and her brows pulled together uncertainly.

"My implant still needs a few adjustments," I shrugged, not sure what the big deal was seeing as I'd been _comatose_ before, "And just because I can levitate a few paperweights doesn't mean I'll be able to throw a mech across a room. I've got to build it back up slowly, make sure nothing's too damaged."

She appeared not to hear me as she glanced around, at the door, to the reinforced glass of the windows, and a line of worry appeared on her forehead.

"What is it?" I asked carefully.

"Do you have a gun, at least?" She sounded sketchy as she turned back to me, the worry line still there.

"I…no, Shepard, I'm in a _hospital_, why would I need a—"

"_Because_, I…look I know it's stupid but I just have a bad feeling about this place. The whole Citadel. It only took one Reaper to launch a full scale attack, and they _know_ that without the Citadel we don't have a galactic government. I don't think it's as safe as everyone keeps saying." She looked up at me uncertainly, as though even _she_ thought she was overreacting and felt foolish because of it. And then suddenly she reached to her hip, pulled her gun from its holster and held it out to me. "Just take it. Please?"

I knew that, to her, the idea of not having a gun within reach was totally alien and left her feeling vulnerable, defenceless. It wasn't the same for me, but if it would help her sleep at night I'd go along with it. As I reached out to take the gun my fingers brushed over hers and she flinched, almost imperceptibly. That tiny movement sent a spike of pain through my chest. I had no idea what was going through her head, but she was still avoiding looking me in the eyes. Her actions were at total odds with everything else I saw, and it baffled me.

"Just…keep an ear out," she said, biting her lip for a moment before she caught herself, "And stay safe."

"I'm in a hospital," I replied in disbelief, "in the richest district of the most heavily defended place in the galaxy. You're out there on the front lines of the most brutal war in history, and you're telling _me_ to stay safe?"

"Yeah," she said, looking up at me at last, her eyes allowing no argument, telling me to just do this one thing for her, "I am."

She must have cared, I thought. At least just a little, maybe even in a way that she herself didn't understand. If she hadn't have pulled her hand away from mine, I'd have stroked my thumb over her knuckles, squeezed her fingers to tell her that I was happy she was here, I was _so glad_ to see her safe, and that I was all too conscious of the fact that she'd have to leave soon.

It killed me that I couldn't leave with her, that I couldn't be _fighting_ with her. That was why I _really_ wanted the Spectre position, even if I didn't tell her that. I wanted to be fighting _beside_ her, not behind her. If she had to charge into hell, if she had to be the one to stop the invasion we'd both learned about together, I wanted to be charging in right next to her. Things had changed, yes. Maybe we'd never be able to get back what we'd lost, things would never be the _same_, but maybe we could build something else in its place.

Seeing casualty reports in the tens of millions gave you a hell of a lot of perspective.

"Can you promise me the same thing?" I asked, already knowing her answer.

"No, of course I can't," she shrugged, suddenly casual, flippant, "I'm fighting _Reapers_, not a cold." There was a tiny little twitch at the corner of her lips that said at least _part_ of her was glad I'd asked.

I breathed a laugh, "Point taken," and looked down at the pistol that was so unmistakably _hers_ that it felt strange to be holding it. The weight was unfamiliar, the balance and shape so heavily customised that I doubted another gun like this existed in the galaxy. Jena loved her weapons, and I mean _loved –_ each one was the result of meticulous crafting and calibrating until it was just as perfect an instrument as she was. She could always build another, but still, to give me one of her pistols, even on the spur of the moment, was a gesture that spoke of trust and care that I knew she couldn't say out loud.

I flexed my hand around the grip that was slightly too thin for my larger hand. "With these mods I might break my wrist if I try to fire, but I'll hang on to it anyway."

She smirked, "You should see the blade that Vega welded on to my shotgun." All at once, her eyes were alight, and she looked at me how she used to whenever we were discussing weapons or tactics. For a moment it was as if we were aboard the first Normandy, and I was just a Lieutenant with a crush on his Commander instead of a Major who should know better than to think that the battle-hungry smile that now crossed her lips was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in a long, _long_ time. "I don't know where it's from, but we've got this great requisition guy on the Normandy who can get pretty much anything. It's made of this super-strong alloy that won't shatter, which is good because the Ns sent me over another Claymore – mark _eight_ this time."

I chuckled, remembering well the way her mouth had fallen open with something close to lust when she was first handed a Claymore shotgun, a weapon that was supposed to still be in development at the time. And so, latching on to this comfort zone of hers, I asked her about the contents of her new weapons locker and her omniblade and for the first time since she'd died we were able to have an entire conversation without bitter tones and scowls souring the whole thing.

It felt good, _so_ good to have that little part of her back, just for a short while. It made me think the woman I'd loved wasn't dead after all, just buried under the stresses of war that had already made her eyes look sunken and dark. That thought, and the knowledge that I was recovering day by day, it filled me with optimism and bright, shining hope for a future where I could fight by her side.

There was a lull in the conversation, a ghost of that smile on her wide, full lips, puckered with scars. I looked at the woman who part of me still thought of as my flawless, beautiful, avenging angel, a woman with more skill and brilliance bound up in her small, perfectly honed body than in a thousand of her peers, with a fire and life behind her eyes that so few possessed. I knew I should have let it go, but I'd let too many things go in my life. I couldn't let her be one of them.

"Are we good?" I asked suddenly, causing her to look up at me uncertainly, "I mean...are we okay? The two of us?" The smile on her lips faded as the conversation moved on to obviously uncomfortable territory. Something about the past few minutes had softened her up, though, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she mulled over an answer.

When she spoke at last her voice was hoarse, but honest, "We...we don't always see eye to eye, I get that. We've got different motivations, and sure, we can butt heads and shout at each other all day, but...there aren't enough people on my side. And I like think you're one of them, when it really comes down to it."

"I've always been on your side, Shepard," I said, "even if I've been pretty lousy at showing it." _And when you look at me like that I'm pretty damn sure I'm still in love with you too, but I have no idea how you feel because you've shut me out, and it's only the stress of war that's cracking you open and that's not what I want. What I want is to take it all away from you._

She gave me a tight little smile, but suddenly seemed uncomfortable in her own chair. Her mouth opened as though she'd say something in response, but apparently she thought better of it and glanced over at the screen on the far wall with the ANN on mute and the current time in the corner.

"Just..." she started, turning back to me, "look, just get better, keep safe, and let me know when you're out. It'll give everyone a boost to know you're back on your feet." The way she casually slipped in 'everyone' instead of 'me' left no clues as to which one she really meant. "And...congrats on the Spectre offer. You'll be great. I mean it."

"Thanks," I furrowed my brows in confusion as she got up from her chair, "that means a lot."

"I should go," she said by way of explanation, nodding towards the door, "saviour-of-the-galaxy business, you know the drill."

"It was good to see you, Jena," her name just slipped out as she turned to leave. I hadn't meant to say it, it had just welled up inside me like the disappointment at the fact that she was leaving. She froze as the sound filled the air, and glanced back just for a moment.

"You too," she said softly, and just like that the doors closed behind her and she was gone and I was still _here_ watching the war unfold on the news while I lay in a fucking hospital bed. Everyone here just kept telling me to _relax_ and take it easy to help with the healing process, but the only time I'd been able to _truly_ relax that I could remember was when I'd woken up next to Jena Shepard and all I'd wanted to do was lie there next to her for the rest of the day until we could fall asleep tangled up in each other yet again. I stared at the doors where she'd stood just a moment ago, and for a second I wasn't a Spectre candidate or a Major, I had no duties to the Alliance, I was just a man, and I just wanted her _back_.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

I left the room and my heart was pounding. I'd been doing fine, I'd recovered from my earlier outburst and I was acting like a normal human being, and then he'd said my name as I was leaving, in exactly the same tone he'd used almost three years ago, and every one of my defences had come crashing down. I didn't even know if it was intentional, the way he said it. There was intimacy in there, a deep kind of understanding of who I was and the strange kind of relationship we had, and I had no idea if he was actually _projecting_ all that with one simple word or if it was just me being a stupid little girl desperately wishing for something I knew I couldn't have, if it even _existed_.

"Excuse me, Commander?" the voice snapped me out of my daze as I walked through the hospital and I glanced up to see that doctor who was with Kaidan earlier, the young, pretty thing with a sleek blonde bob and unblemished skin that had never seen combat. I'd hated her instantly, the way she'd touched his neck with an easy familiarity, and I'd told myself I was just being ridiculous because, after all, she was his _doctor_ and that was her job, but there was something in her clear blue eyes now that obviously wasn't _just_ concern for a patient.

"What is it?" I asked in a brusque tone that made it clear I had places to be.

"I just wanted to say that, in my opinion, Kaidan definitely isn't ready to go on active duty just yet. Multiple shoulder fractures are still healing, and with his biotic implant so damaged-"

"I know _that_," I snapped in disbelief, my eyes narrowing, "I didn't come here to re-recruit him, I was just visiting."

She smoothed back a lock of hair by her ear and gave me a tight, tolerant smile, "Maybe so, but you _are_ planning on re-recruiting him, right?"

It sounded more like an accusation, and I was instantly on the defensive, crossing my arms and lifting my chin to take measure of her and what she wanted.

"If he _wants_ to be recruited, then yeah," I shrugged, wondering if that famous integrity of his would make him follow things through to the end, or steer well clear of me and my mess, "We could definitely use him on the Normandy, but he's no use to anyone until he's better."

Her well-groomed brows moved together sadly, "He's a good man, Commander. I've been treating him a lot these past few years, and I just..." she paused, pressing her lips tight together as though trying to word something that was difficult to say, "As his doctor I worry that he always seems to end up _hurt_ when he's serving with you." At her words, hot rage climbed up my throat, but shame pushed it back down because, actually, she wasn't wrong. "I don't know if that's because of the nature of your missions – of course working with a Spectre is a more high-risk occupation – or because of some insane drive he has to _impress_ you, but...I'm not sure it's the best idea for him to be serving with you again, especially not after he was so injured last time."

There was a sympathetic slant to her eyes, a sort of sadness and pity that I'd seen before, paired with tense, joyless smiles that said the person behind those eyes had no fucking clue about the life I led. She didn't want Kaidan serving with me? There was no _way_ that was just because of his health – the irritated manner in which she'd glanced at me as he'd asked her to leave told me that much – but even if it _was_, she had no right, not when eighteen year olds just through basic training were being used as cannon fodder across the galaxy.

"As his _doctor_?" I shot back with a dark, uncompromising scowl, "Are you fucking kidding me? Maybe you should spend less time _checking out_ your patients and more time _fixing _them so that soldiers like Kaidan can get back on their feet where they're needed." She flinched as I swore and opened her mouth to respond, but I kept going, "You've never been on the front lines, I can tell, but I'm there _every day_ and at the moment I'm pretty much the only thing standing between the Reapers and every scrap of intelligent life in the galaxy, _including_ you. And you may think you know what's best for Kaidan but last time I checked he was an Alliance Major who can think for himself, and if you knew him _at all_, you'd know there's no way in hell he'd sit back and let other people win this war for him. No, he wants to be out there on the front lines, right next to me-" _because he's _mine_ you simpering little bitch, and if I ever catch you looking at him like that isn't true I swear to god I'll make you know what it's like to stare straight into the soulless eyes of a Reaper harvester as it swoops in for the kill _"-doing what he does best. So you listen to me and you listen good." I leaned in close to her, watching her eyes widen with something close to fear as she glanced at the scars ripping their way through my face, "Fix him, get him on his feet, and thank your lucky stars every day that you're in the Citadel where it's safe because _other people_ are brave enough to fight this war for you. Got it?"

She nodded, a little frantic, and when I jerked my head dismissively to one side, she rushed off as though she'd been scalded, probably straight back to Kaidan to complain about all the horrible things I'd said. I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on her, I knew, but her words had sent it all bubbling to the surface. I hated coming to the Citadel and watching these people swanning around as if there wasn't a _war_ on, as though at this very moment every army in the galaxy wasn't fighting for the survival of their entire species. It was like they thought if they just ignored it for long enough, the soldiers would win it for them like we always did – because everyone knew the Citadel was the safest place in the galaxy, everyone knew it was untouchable.

People here had _short_ memories.

I stalked out of the hospital with one destination in mind, and I knew I should have taken a moment to calm myself so I could act like a rational human being, but fire was still coursing through my blood and I found that, right now, I didn't _want_ to be calm. This was a coping mechanism that had worked for years. Maybe it wasn't the healthiest way to deal with emotions or even to interact with other people, but with Reapers bearing down on every planet I'd heard of, the only thing that mattered was that I was on my feet. Besides, people responded well to my threats. They were motivating, and _smart _people knew that they didn't come from malice or spite, but from a total, all-consuming exhaustion with the world and how fucking _incompetent_ everyone else was.

Recently, it was because trying to save the galaxy from certain destruction was basically the most frustrating thing _ever_ when you were surrounded by selfish assholes who saw the invasion as a way to get themselves ahead.

It was with this in mind that I found myself in Udina's office, asking him very plainly why he had chosen this _exact_ moment to make Kaidan a Spectre. It was something I'd wondered since Kaidan had told me, and suddenly the look on the Councillor's face as I'd brushed passed him in the hospital had made sense. His eyes had been filled with hard resentment and there was a dismissive sneer on his lips. It had made me wonder if the only reason he'd chosen Kaidan was because I hadn't turned out to be quite as good an attack dog as he'd wanted. Kaidan was a hell of a biotic, yes, and he was good enough to be a Spectre, there was no doubt, but he had the added quality of being loyal to a fault and taking his responsibilities very, very seriously – a quality that was easy to exploit. He also wasn't afraid to stand up to me.

Udina was a politician to his core, and could lie through his teeth. He was also desperate – with the Council not listening and the entire human government shredded within 24 hours, there wasn't much left to ground him. In his desperation, he could well decide he didn't like the direction my mission was going in and do his best to throw a spanner in the works, just as he'd done before. And if anyone could use Kaidan's loyalty to their own ends, it was _him_.

"Is that _jealousy_ I detect, Commander?" he responded uninterestedly, not even looking up as he flicked through the pages of a datapad.

"No," I replied plainly, "It's suspicion. There are tens of operatives on this very station you could choose from to be your own personal Spectre – why _Kaidan_? He's in a hospital bed, he won't be fit for active duty for a while. The timing is...off."

"Your suspicions, as ever, are entirely unfounded," he droned, "Major Alenko is the most powerful biotic we have, and he is one of the few Alliance soldiers available who could shoulder the responsibilities of being a Spectre. Responsibilities, I notice, that you seem content to neglect." My fingers twitched violently and I closed them into fists. _Forgive me for not wanting to act as an escort for the galactic government, _I wanted to say,_ I'm afraid I'm a little caught up with making sure there's actually a galaxy left for them to govern. _"Despite what you've been told by Anderson and others, Shepard, you're not as unique or as irreplaceable as you think. We need more Spectres, Major Alenko is the best man for the job, and _that_, quite plainly, is all there is to it."

"There's a squadron of Ns based here," I insisted, having passed them in the holding area not long ago, "a few N7s among them. I've worked with a handful, and any one of them would be a more logical choice than Kaidan seeing as they're actually on their_ feet_. Tell me why you picked him."

He breathed a harsh, growling sigh, as though I were a child taking up his valuable time. "Aside from all that I've already said, the simple answer is that when it comes to doing his duty, Major Alenko is uninfluenced even by _you_. You may have some residual hold over him, but when you tried to recruit him to Cerberus he refused, because he knows his place and he knows where his loyalties lie. The same cannot always be said for _you_, Shepard. The Council needs more men whose loyalty rests with _us_ and not to themselves or some high-minded ideals. We need men who can follow _orders_, not disregard them entirely," he was raising his voice, and his face was darkening with anger, stress lines around his eyes creasing together, "_That_, Commander, is why I recommended the Major for Spectre status. Now is that all or do you have any other non_sensical_ accusations for my consideration?"

I hated him, I realised. I hated him because he thought himself above me even though there was _nothing _left inside him that was solid or real. He'd put the entire galaxy on the brink of destruction because he hadn't been able to stand behind me after I'd died, and he'd never been able to scrape together any trust in the things I said even _after_ I saved his life and let them put him on the Council. He didn't listen to logic or reason, he didn't want soldiers who could think for themselves or do the right thing, he wanted lackeys he could order around, and I _hated_ that he thought Kaidan was like that. Udina could never understand me or my motivations, could never forgive me for turning my back on the Alliance so I could do the right thing.

Still, there was one thing that I _knew_ he understood.

"Just this," I said pleasantly, leaning across his desk in an echo of the first time I'd stood there as a Spectre, "If you're being honest with me then you have nothing to worry about. I'll keep doing my job, you keep doing yours, and together we'll win this war that you did nothing to prevent." My face darkened, eyes narrowing dangerously as I lowered my voice, "But if it turns out you're lying, if you _betray_ me, if you try to stop me from doing my job, if you get in my way…I'm telling you now, Udina, I will rip your fucking throat out with my bare hands and I will _enjoy it_."

There was a flicker in his eyes, something close to fear, but he kept his face hard and stern as though my words were bouncing off of him. I stepped back and gave him a casual little shrug as I moved towards the door, "Just so you know."

As I stalked back to the Normandy, instead of people demanding my attention every few minutes, the thunderous expression on my face made them give me a wide berth. I'd been in something close to a good mood after seeing Kaidan, but it never lasted long. I wanted to be happy for him, I did, and I knew that he'd make a good Spectre, but I just…part of me wished he was still just a Lieutenant so he wouldn't have that kind of weight on his fractured shoulders. If he didn't need to be constantly on the lookout for threats – even threats like me – then things would have been so much easier. Maybe he wouldn't have been suspicious in the first place, maybe things would never have soured. Now, I just couldn't stand the thought of him being used and manipulated by someone like Udina. He was too good for that. He deserved better.

Talking to Garrus helped to lift my spirits, at least for a little while, and thankfully he didn't mention Kaidan, but soon I found that I just wanted to be alone with my own dark thoughts as the ship raced towards Tuchanka. Garrus said with heavy emphasis that I must have been tired, and that he hoped I'd use the few hours of the journey to get some actual _sleep_. I told him, as I always did, that I'd sleep when I was dead, but when I went back up to my cabin, something – maybe it was seeing for myself that Kaidan was alive and well, maybe it was just pure exhaustion – made me drift off as soon as I made it to my bed.

It didn't last, though. That kind of peace never lasted. I was torn from vicious, violent nightmares by Joker telling me we were nearing our destination, and it took me several minutes of splashing cold water on my face and staring hard at my own pale reflection before I could summon up the strength to stop shaking and get back to saving the galaxy.

Later, when we were still neck-deep in the situation on Tuchanka, I saw Kaidan on ANN, formally accepting his Spectre status with Udina and the rest of the Council. It was a small affair, but he was walking and wearing his dress blues, and that gave me hope. Eve had told me in that meaningful way of hers that even in the darkest hour, there was always hope to be found, and maybe _that_ was it. Maybe the knowledge that Kaidan was still safe and doing so well was what I needed to get through the next few days. I put her crystal with the other trinkets I'd picked up in my travels. In the brief moments of rest I managed to snatch, when I decided I'd exhausted myself too much to dream, I'd hold the idea of that crystal in my mind, and tell myself there had to be a light at the end of all of this.

Chapter 23: Crosshairs – The uneasy accord between the human Spectres is threatened when they find themselves on opposite sides. With her world falling down around her, Shepard decides to ignore her reservations and give Kaidan one more chance aboard the Normandy.


	23. Crosshairs

**Chapter 23: Crosshairs**

_Kaidan_

I pulled the shirt on over my head and held my breath instinctively, but the spike of pain didn't come. As an experiment I flexed my shoulders, and it was only when I stretched them right back that I could feel the dull ache starting up again, but that was to be expected. I'd been lucky, I was told, that the damage hadn't been far worse.

I didn't need them to tell me I'd been lucky. For a blinding flash of agony I'd been so sure that I was living my last few seconds, and then I'd woken up safe and sound, only to be told that the Normandy had got me here just in time.

I'd watched from my bed as reports came in of unthinkably high body counts from around the galaxy. All I'd wanted to do since I woke up was get back in the field, but seeing as up until a week ago I couldn't even fully lift my arms, let alone use my biotics, that had been out of the question.

My body still wasn't completely healed, but I'd be damned if I'd stay in a hospital bed while I could walk. It had been hard enough convincing them to sign me out for the day so I could formally accept my new Spectre status, and even harder to keep my back straight when my shoulders ached with every hand I shook. It was just a formality, really, something to keep the humans around the galaxy happy, or at least the rich ones who still had access to the ANN. Donations to the war effort had skyrocketed the next day. Maybe it was a good thing that all communications to Earth had been cut off, I thought bleakly. My mom hated hearing only hearing about my life when it was on the news.

I'd gone right back to the hospital afterwards, with Emily telling me in a scolding tone that I'd overexerted myself. But I'd had enough of pandering to her, and explained matter-of-factly that seeing as I was a soldier in the middle of a war, overexerting myself was what I was _supposed _to do. She'd looked a little hurt at that, but I was too frustrated to care. After Shepard had visited a few days earlier, Emily had come back in to continue the examination and slipped a few thinly-veiled mentions of the Commander's short fuse into the conversation, though she didn't mention how she knew. It had annoyed me to hear her talk about Jena like she knew _anything_ about her – in fact it annoyed me when _anyone_ badmouthed the woman I'd fallen for all those years ago. Yes, she had a short fuse, no patience or pity and cursed like a mercenary, but I'd like to see how calm and tolerant _anyone_ managed to be if they had her job.

I'd told Emily in no uncertain terms that Jena was off-limits, beyond reproach from anyone else, especially anyone like _her_ who'd never seen combat, and the doctor had looked at me like I'd just told her to go fuck herself. I'd apologised, blaming the stress of not being able to join in the fight, but that was only half true. I'd thought for a moment that I was just being a hypocrite again, seeing as how I was constantly picking over Jena's every action to convince myself she was exactly who and what she said she was, but it was different because I actually _knew_ her. The good _and_ the bad.

At least now, I thought, I could stop watching from the sidelines and start making an actual difference again. The hospital had said, reluctantly, that I was free to leave, and so here I was, packing up the few meagre possessions I had on the Citadel, wondering what I could do next.

Spectre status had opened up a whole new world of possibilities. And there was always that offer from Hackett, the one he'd given me shortly after the ceremony when he'd said there was a squad ready for me to command if I wanted it. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it, but…I'd made a promise. More than one. To Shepard _and_ to Anderson. I couldn't keep her safe and alive if I was on the other side of the galaxy, and I wouldn't get to experience the heady thrill of fighting alongside her again either.

It was still her choice, though. That was how it had to be. I'd call her soon, I thought. I'd get to see her the next time she was on the Citadel, and we could work it out _then_. Say all the things there hadn't been time to say before.

While I'd still been confined to my bed, I'd met a friend of hers. The first time I saw the drell glide into my room with the telltale grace of a trained assassin, I'd reached for the gun she'd left me, but nothing in his manner had been aggressive, and at once he explained that he'd fought with Shepard when they faced the Collectors. It was then that I recognised him. There weren't many drell around, and I found it difficult to tell them apart sometimes, but I remembered his colouring from the files Operative Lawson had given me. Thane – the assassin, the one that had been at her side for most of the missions right at the end of her stint with Cerberus, the one she clearly trusted. He told me then that she'd asked him to 'watch over' me while I was in the hospital, as although he was sick too, he could still fight.

'_She was quite insistent_,' he'd said, '_I understand the two of you worked together against Saren several years ago, but that your ties to the Alliance prevented you from joining her against the Collectors. You are lucky to have a friend like Shepard, especially in such uncertain times. She is…unique. And she clearly cares a great deal about your welfare.'_

We'd spoken, then, about her, their work together, how she had defied Cerberus at every turn and pulled even the most apathetic of operatives along with her until they'd be willing to die on her order. He told me how working with Shepard had given him a new outlook on life and his final few months. He cared about her too, that much was obvious. Everyone under Shepard's command cared about her. That was why they'd follow her anywhere.

I'd loved her, I was still _smitten_ with her, but _that_, I told myself, was why I _couldn't_ just dive in blindly like before. Love gave you tunnel vision, it made you sloppy, do stupid things. The last time I'd been in love I got my first kill and changed my life forever, and what I felt for Rahna had been a childish crush compared to the way I still felt about Jena. And Jena was far, _far_ more dangerous. With a single look she could reel me in, make me think of nothing but how _good_ it would feel to just forget it all and kiss her again. I couldn't let myself get dragged in to her orbit. Not at a time like this when there was so much at stake.

I didn't know what I needed from her to wipe this suspicion from my mind. I didn't know what she could do to prove herself. It felt like she'd proved herself so many times over already. I just needed a sign, _something_ which said I could trust her unreservedly, just as I had before. Because this time, if I gave in, there would be no going back.

I heard her name suddenly and glanced up at the television on the far side of the room, the ANN logo twirling in the corner. There was a reporter going on about Shepard's work on Tuchanka, all the incredible things she'd achieved there. Normally I wouldn't bother to listen as most reporters these days could only base their stories on hearsay and rumours, but the woman talking – Diana Allers, it said her name was – had been the one to get the pictures of the interspecies summit that had taken place on the Normandy, so clearly she had actual _access_. It had been strange seeing Jena in her Alliance dress blues, hair scraped back neatly, expression calm as swirling clouds before the first crack of thunder. The next picture had been her leaning over the table to shout at the salarian Dalatrass, jabbing a finger in the air while Wrex and the turian Primarch looked on. It didn't seem that unusual, nothing Jena did seemed unusual because she made it look so _effortless_, but when you considered that an Alliance Commander held more sway in those negotiations than the leaders of three _entire species_, it was nothing short of astonishing.

Allers paused briefly and a video took over the screen of…_what_? Was that a _thresher maw_ taking down a _Reaper_? I sat back down on my bed and turned up the volume, watching intently as Allers explained the insane plan they'd hatched on the ground to compensate for last-minute setbacks. The video switched back to her round, chirpy face, and she beamed a smile.

"I have with me Commander Shepard herself, fresh from her spectacular victory on Tuchanka. Commander, can you tell me a little about what really happened?"

The camera turned and I saw Jena standing there in half-done Alliance fatigues, a dark tank top leaving the few strips of medigel on her arms plainly visible over her tattoos. There were bags under her eyes, heavier than last time I'd seen her, and everything about her stance said that she was tired, even though she was doing her best to keep her posture rigid and professional. There was a bandage cutting over the bridge of her nose, and a healed scrape on her cheek that told me something had caught her across the face because she was _still_ too stubborn to wear a damn helmet. She spoke in a low, husky voice as she answered the questions that Allers fired off, occasionally throwing in the word 'classified' when she decided she didn't want to explain any further.

"It wasn't without sacrifice, and the krogan know that," she went on, "we lost a lot of good people to set a thousand years of history right. The turian Primarch's son, Tarquin Victus, was among them. And my personal friend and ally Mordin Solus, a salarian scientist, voluntarily gave his life to make sure the mission was a success."

There was pain in her eyes as she spoke, even though her voice was perfectly level. It wasn't fair, I thought. She'd lost too many friends already. I should have been there. I could have done something.

"What do you say to the accusations that you as a soldier have no right to decide the fate of an entire species?" Allers asked patiently, and I saw Jena's lip curl back in irritation, "And especially not a species like the krogan?"

"I'd say that _no one_ has the right to decide the fate of an entire species except that species itself," she replied in a tight, clipped voice, "You can argue galactic politics all you like, and whether or not the original genophage was the right decision at the time is something I can't comment on, but when it comes down to it the krogan aren't different or special from other species. The only reason they became a danger in the first place is because the galactic community _interfered_, and frankly they've been far more reasonable about _all_ of this than some of the so-called _civilised_ governments. They deserve a chance, just like everyone else. Here on the Normandy we're fighting against the Reapers so that _everyone_ has a chance at rebuilding after this is all over with, and if we're to stand together, that _has_ to include the krogan."

She was just as blunt and direct as always. I missed that style of hers, the way she'd cut right through the bullshit and say things that no one else would dare to, even if they knew it was _true_. I missed the Normandy too, still visible in the background, a different ship to the one I'd served on but with the same spirit. Most of all, I missed _her_. I hated the idea of her out there every day where I couldn't watch her back. If I'd been there, maybe she wouldn't have got that scratch added to the many scars on her face. Maybe I'd have been able to convince her to sleep more.

"And if the decision backfires?" Allers pressed on, "If there's another war?"

Shepard stared right at the camera, "Then you can thank the krogan and you can thank _everyone_ on this ship that there's still a galaxy left to fight over. It's pretty f-_bleep-_ng ridiculous that anyone's thinking about the _next_ war when we're not even close to winning _this_ one, and if we lose there won't be any option of surrender – the Reapers _will not stop_ until they've snuffed out every scrap of intelligent life in the galaxy. _That_ is the ugly reality here. _That_ is why we're fighting – because the only options are victory or total extinction. What we need is for _everyone_ watching to do their part – if you can fight, sign up _today_, if you're an engineer, a pilot, scientist, we _still_ need you, even if you have no special skills you can volunteer as an extra pair of hands. We _can_ win this war, but not without help, and right now we need _everyone_ to do their part."

"There you have it," Allers said to the camera with a wide, perky smile, "a personal appeal from the Commander herself." She kept talking but now that Jena wasn't in the shot I didn't care. I could hear the strain woven through her voice – tiredness and frustration, even if it had lifted with pride when she spoke about what they'd achieved. _God_, I missed her.

But I was a Spectre now. Things were suddenly simpler _and_ more complicated than they'd been before. On the one hand I was free to do whatever I wanted with no real authority holding me back, just as she had once done. On the other hand, there was no one to take the fall for me, no one to pick up the slack if screwed up, and with Jena I couldn't trust myself, not completely. All it would take was one look from her, and I'd forget myself, forget why I was supposed to be on my guard around her.

There was still that issue, lurking beneath the surface. The idea that she'd been in the enemy's hands for so long, that they could have done _anything_ to her. Cerberus still hadn't made their plans clear.

I sighed, combing my hands through my hair and feeling racked with indecision, even more than before. When it really, _really_ came down to it, I had a feeling that her Cerberus ties weren't the only thing holding me back. There was fear, too. The fear that even if I decided I could trust her, if followed her and laid my heart on the line, she could throw it right back at me with scorn. Was it stupid to follow a woman you were half in love with because, even though she _spoke_ like she hated you, she _acted_ like she still cared? Was now, when the galaxy was on the brink of destruction, the worst possible time or the _best _possible time to throw caution to the wind and dive in again?

I fired up my omnitool and scrolled through my messages until I found the one she'd written just two days ago. I'd sent her a message saying that I was very nearly back on my feet and that I'd accepted the offer to become a Spectre, and she'd replied within a few hours.

_Kaidan,_

_Good to hear you think you're okay, even if you still looked like shit on the news. Yeah, I caught the tail end of the ceremony, Traynor let me know it was on, she thought I'd want to see my new competition. Think I'll be tied up on Tuchanka for a few more days still. You should see it here. The whole place is torn to shreds, but we're doing good work, and I actually think something might go right for once. I'll tell you about it when I get the chance. Don't know when that'll be, but I'll find you next time I'm on the Citadel._

_Congrats on Spectre status. Maybe I'll see you in HQ sometime soon. Enjoy sitting on your ass while you can. There's not many chances for that out here._

_Stay safe,_

_Shepard _

I'd been disappointed that she'd used her last name, even if the tone of the message was the warmest she'd been in a while – curt but in an oddly affectionate way. Hell, it was warmer than she'd been around me in…_years_. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the death all around her. Maybe it was because, now, as Spectres, we were in this together, just as we'd been right back in the beginning. We could _understand_ each other, and the pressures that had been placed on our shoulders.

Hell, even if I couldn't have her back in my arms, I wanted her back as a friend, as someone who _understood_ it all, who knew me better than maybe anyone else out there. I wanted to be able to smile at her in the rare moments when things were _good_ and have her smile right back, just as we used to when we were circling each other on the first Normandy, all those years ago.

I wanted to know that she was in control of herself, through and through. I wanted to know that, if I let myself love her, I wouldn't have to put her down. The very thought made me feel _sick_.

I was still staring at her name signed at the bottom of the message when suddenly it fizzled out and was replaced by an alert flashing up and overriding everything else. There was no real information, it was just bright red and critical, and with a cold blast of certainty I looked at the icon and knew what it was. It had come through the encrypted Spectre channel, the first communication I'd had from them so far. Red was the worst one. Red meant the Council was in serious danger. My heart started pounding as I stared dumbly at the alert. Was it just a test? A malfunction? Could it—

An explosion shook the building and I whipped my head around to look out the window where fire had erupted from the walls of the Presidium. A second followed it further along, and a siren rang out through the hospital, screams echoing down the halls. I didn't stop to think what it could be or who would dare to attack this place. Instead, a deathly calm descended over me – I knew exactly what I had to do, and as I pulled on my boots with stiff fingers I ran through the steps in my mind. The fastest way to get to the Council chambers. The crystal-clear protocol I'd had hammered into my head only a few days ago. There were so few other Spectres on the Citadel now, most had been called back to their home planets to deal with the devastation there. I had no armour – my hardsuit was still in storage somewhere – but my biotics were fine, and, I thought as I rifled urgently through the bag on the bed, I still had Jena's gun.

It would have to be enough.

oOoOoOo

My finger twitched against the trigger as the doors slid open, but instead of the Cerberus agents I'd expected blocking our exits, it was _her_, and I stopped myself just in time, hot adrenaline pounding through my blood. Standing there in torn, dirt-smeared fatigues with my shoulders aching, I was so, so thankful for backup, even if she'd come from the same direction as the people that had been pursuing us so relentlessly. Sighing in relief, I lowered my gun, but uneasiness crept up my throat as I realised she was keeping _her_ gun pointed straight at me, and with a smash of his omnitool, Garrus disabled the only way out.

If it had been anyone else, _anyone_ else, I'd fire a warning shot, I'd floor them with biotics, but I couldn't attack _her_, not even if this was starting to look pretty _damn_ suspicious.

"Shepard, what are you doing? Stand down!" I barked, raising my gun and deciding I'd keep it trained on her until she put _hers_ away. The last time I'd seen her down the barrel of a gun was when I'd snuck in to the Spectre HQ and it had all been a game. Now we were _both_ Spectres, and this felt very, _very_ real.

"Kaidan, it's _Udina_!" she snarled, and at once I realised that her aim was slightly off – she wasn't pointing her gun at me, she was aiming just over my shoulder at where the Councillor stood. What the _hell_? "Udina's the mole, he's working for Cerberus!"

"That is _ridiculous_," Udina snapped from behind me, "she's blocking our escape – _she's_ clearly the one after the Council!"

"There are Cerberus agents swarming over the elevators, and you _know _it, you turncoat _bastard_!" She turned to me with her eyes wide and agitated, and I saw there was blood streaked across her face, and a large, fresh bruise blooming on her cheek. _Don't look, _I told myself, _don't feel sorry for her. Not now. Just think. _"Kaidan, if you let him open that door we won't be able to hold them off," she said quickly, "Udina's staging a coup, he's trying to lure you all out so the Council will be killed and _he'll_ be the only one left in power!"

"Shepard, he's a _Councillor_," I replied levelly, staring at her through the flicker of my barrier and down the barrel of my gun, "Is this a _real_ accusation or just a hunch?"

Garrus was with her, and he'd believe anything she said. Liara was with her too, and that gave me pause, but then I remembered that she'd _always_ admired and idolised Shepard, and would follow her over anyone else. I stared at the woman in front of me, in full ruthless N7 commando mode, and, with acrid dread swirling in my stomach, I realised I had absolutely no way to tell if _this_ was it, if _this_ was the sleeper protocol Cerberus could have put in her. She could have been fulfilling their plans without even knowing it. It seemed crazy, but was it any crazier than the idea that the human Councillor had betrayed the entire _Citadel_?

I looked at her, she looked back at me with fire dancing in her wild, gold-flecked eyes, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I had no idea what to believe.

"She's _mad_," Udina insisted before she could reply, "She's still under Cerberus control, they're using her to overthrow the Council! I should have seen this coming!"

"What?" I demanded, keeping my eyes locked on Shepard's even as I angled back to hear him over the blood pounding in my ears. My barrier was flickering wildly, ready to erupt at a second's notice, even though my voice was impressively calm.

"I found out she was still in contact with Cerberus and she _threatened _me to keep me quiet. I have _proof_!"

Her brows twitched together in confusion at this unexpected turn, lips still twisted into a snarl. I glanced back just for a moment to see Udina raise his omnitool triumphantly and play a voice recording.

'_If you try to stop me…' _it was her, it was _unmistakably _her, and she sounded livid, '…_if you get in my way…I'm telling you now, Udina, I will rip your fucking throat out with my bare hands and I will _enjoy_ it._'

"You're not getting away with it, Shepard," Udina said darkly, with a smug note in his voice that seemed strangely out of place, "I won't let you!"

I went cold, turning the evidence around in my head and keeping my eyes squarely on Shepard to watch her reaction as her face filled with spluttering outrage.

"You _lying_ sack of _shit_!" Shepard snarled, her gun still pointed squarely at Udina. She looked at me, her eyes bright and furious and just a little manic, "Don't believe a word, Kaidan, that's _not_ what happened."

Her reaction was genuine, that much was obvious, but…_damn_ it to hell, I couldn't let one look from her sway my decision. I couldn't let my guard down, not even for a second. I told myself again and again that this was _Shepard_, not Jena, and that I was a Major, not her ex-lover. The mission had to come first. "That's not your voice?" I asked calmly, keeping myself directly between her and the Councillor.

"It's…" she sighed sharply in frustration, "It's my voice, but it's _not_ what it sounds like. He's fucking with your head! I never worked for Cerberus, I _used_ them – you _know_ that!"

She was looking at me now in the same way she'd looked at me on Mars, insisting that I of _all people _should know what she was about. That I should _know_ to trust her.

I saw her fight Cerberus on Mars. I saw her shout at the Illusive Man, and she'd promised – _promised_ – so many times that she was done with them for good, that she'd only ever been on _our_ side. I kept my face tight and hard as I looked at her, at the barrel of the gun she still had pointed at Udina and at _me_.

"You have no _proof_," Udina growled, "you have _nothing_. You are a _liar_ and an enemy to the Council. Spectre Alenko, _eliminate_ her!"

A direct order, from the highest possible authority. In that moment I was absolutely frozen with indecision. I didn't disobey orders, but _nothing_ inside me would let me follow this one, and I felt my biotic barrier ripple with the tension wound up in my body. There was venom in Udina's voice, a kind of _bloodlust_ that wanted to see the woman in front of me gunned down. They'd always been at each other's throats.

A thought entered my head, clear and sharp, a memory of the first time we'd raged against the Council because they refused to prosecute Spectre Saren Arterius without proof. The proof we needed finally came in the form of a voice recording, just like the one Udina had now. Why the hell did he wait _this_ long to do anything about it?

I looked at Shepard, I thought of all the things she'd been right about before, and with her wild, amber eyes staring back at me, I started to doubt that she'd _ever_ been wrong.

Then, suddenly, she lifted her gun and held her hands up in surrender. "Fine," she said softly, and for a second, just a second, she looked at me with complete sincerity in her eyes, total, naked vulnerability that said she was putting this situation entirely in my hands, that she would _trust me_ to do what was right just as she'd always begged me to trust _her_. "It's your call, Spectre Alenko."

That's right. I was a Spectre now too. We were the people that made the tough decisions. But with that look in her eyes, the one I'd only seen a few times before, the decision was suddenly much easier. This wasn't Cerberus talking, it had _never_ been them. This was _her_, and right now she needed me more than ever. Time to dive back in. Time to put my life and trust back in her hands.

I turned where I stood and pointed my gun straight at Udina.

"Get back, _now_," I demanded. He looked up at me, and if he'd been innocent there would have been confusion, perhaps, _outrage_, but instead something _clicked_ and I understood at once that she'd been right and that he _knew_ it was all over – he'd been caught. Ice cold relief crashed over me. She'd been right. His gamble hadn't worked and now he had a Spectre with a gun trained on him – _two_ Spectres, I realised, as she moved up next to me with her arm outstretched. Side by side, just as we should be. _Always_.

I watched Udina glancing around frantically, trying to salvage his plan even though he was _done_, and in that instant I hated Cerberus more than I'd ever hated _anything_ before, even the Reapers. Because of Cerberus I'd spent months, almost a _year_, convinced that the woman I'd loved was a time bomb, a traitor in disguise. I should have spent that time standing next to her instead of opposite her, I should have _been_ there when she needed me.

She stepped forward with her gun raised, I saw the red lines crossing over her face, and with my stomach twisted up like a rag I remembered that Cerberus was the only reason she was still alive. And _I _was the one that had chosen to push her away. When it came down to it, I was just a hypocrite.

"Hands in the air," I barked, throwing all the fury I felt into my voice and watching as Udina flinched and stepped back.

And then things moved so quickly that later I wasn't sure how it had all happened. He shoved the asari Councillor to the floor even as Shepard _ordered_ him to back off, he pulled out his weapon from nowhere, and then…

A shot rang out through the courtyard, and with a final, harsh gasp of air, Udina slumped to the ground.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

_Keep it together. Just keep it together for a few more minutes_.

I breathed in through my nose and let it out, long and slow and shaking, through my pursed lips. Again and again I did this as the elevator raced towards the Normandy's docking bay, and it helped to push down the prickles that ran up my nose, the deep feeling of emptiness and loss that filled my body and left my skin cold and damp.

_Almost there_, I told myself as the elevator stopped and I stepped out, heading briskly towards the security checkpoint. My hands were clenching themselves into fists in pointless, useless anger, as if being angry about it would change _anything_ that had happened today.

I'd always been able to look at an enemy and work out its weak spots instantly. I could watch the way someone moved, close my eyes as though in meditation and still get a perfect headshot. _No_ _one_ could get the better of me – I was the best, I was _fast_, no one _ever_ took me by surprise. But with that assassin it had all just been…a blur. My eyes had tried to follow him, but he'd been _so fast_, inhumanly so, and watching him had given me that feeling, the same spitting, frustrated _rage_ that rippled through my body whenever I realised that I just _wasn't_ capable of something. We'd chased him off, we'd stopped him from finishing the job, but not fast enough. He was still alive.

And Thane was dead.

I felt _wretched_. Exhausted tears welled up and stung, threatening to fall, and I took another deep breath to push them back down. He'd died right in front of my eyes, and the last thing he'd done was to…to pray for me. I let the breath out unsteadily, watching my hand shake as I held it up to the security scanner.

He prayed because it was the only thing he could do to help me. He prayed that I would be forgiven for all the things that I'd done, he said that I had a pure heart but that I was surrounded by wickedness, as if he already knew everything about the harsh and painful life that had brought me to this point. I held his hand as he looked at me, one ex-assassin to another, and told me that he wished for me all the joy in the world, everything that had been denied to him. He told me that I couldn't give up, but that if these _were_ my last days then I should wring whatever happiness I could from this world that had been so cruel to us both. He said that I couldn't be frightened to grab hold of it with both hands, not to wait until it was too late, as he almost did.

And then, as his son spoke the words to a prayer because I found my voice wouldn't work, he died. Just like that. And all I could do was watch it happen, mystified by the idea that I was still alive and healthy when so many others had gone and never come back.

_You won't be alone for long, Thane_.

I wondered if he would end up across the same sea as Mordin. I wondered if this sea had a beach, and if that beach had any seashells.

I remembered with cold, brutal clarity the blackness that I'd fallen into as the air was sucked from my helmet when I'd died in space, trying to scream with no breath in my burning lungs. I convinced myself now that the hiss of my broken and battered hardsuit depressurising had actually been the sound of waves lapping on the shore of an afterlife I didn't remember.

There had to be a reward at the end, a bright side to all of this. There just _had_ to be.

I didn't even try to hide the desolation on my face as I tapped in the code to access the Normandy's docking bay. Tears were still brimming in my stinging eyes, not just over Thane but over _everything_ that had happened in the past few weeks, and I knew I couldn't let them fall just yet because someone would see, even if there was no one around here and—

I looked up as the doors slid open, and saw Kaidan staring right back at me. His expression instantly switched from neutral to anxious as he took me in, and I swatted at my eyes as though it was just simple exhaustion that was weighing me down.

"_Shepard_, god, what happ—"

"Why are you here?" I interrupted in a voice that sounded miserable to my ears, not wanting him to see me like this, not _now_. His brows came together in concern, sincere and heartfelt, and _fuck_ I wished I could just step into his arms and collapse and tell him what had happened, but instead I pressed my lips together and thought of how we'd been in an armed stand-off barely a few hours ago. He'd trusted me in the end, and surely that was all that mattered, but it didn't erase the years of history between us. Idly, I noticed he'd changed into fatigues that weren't battered by combat, and there was a strip of medi gel over a cut on the rise of his cheekbone.

"It's not important," he replied with a shake of his head as he took a step towards me, eyes never leaving mine, "It can wait. What happened?"

I opened my mouth to tell him _nothing_, _I'm fine_, but I knew the truth was written all over my face because I didn't have the strength to hide it any more. And then I told myself that I'd just seen a friend die for me. More than that – I'd sat and _watched_ as he breathed his last and his last wish had been for me to keep on living. That was something that _broke_ regular people. I could let myself give in to it, just this once.

"My friend just died," I said simply, not caring that my voice was shaking, "He was protecting the salarian Councillor and this Cerberus assassin stabbed him. I couldn't stop it. He was terminally ill anyway, so he never had much of a chance, not enough drell blood around or something, but I…I still hoped…" I shrugged helplessly, looking up at him and watching as his face creased with sympathy.

"Thane," Kaidan said after a while, as though he'd just worked it out. "Shit. I…I'm sorry. He came to see me in the hospital, we talked for a bit and he…" he broke off, apparently at a loss, and sighed, looking down at his own hands as though exasperated that there was nothing they could do to fix things. "I'm so sorry, Jena. Really. I am. He seemed like a good guy. Honourable."

In his voice I heard no platitudes, no pretence, just pure, honest compassion, and for some reason I felt as if a shadow had been lifted from my body. War was hell, people died, and here was Kaidan, probably one of the strongest people I knew, telling me it was okay to feel shitty about it, it was _okay_ to feel drained and beaten even though today was technically a victory. Some part of me wished he'd take my hand again, just so I could feel his thumb brushing over my knuckles like he'd done before, a silent gesture of solidarity to say he understood and cared in a way that words couldn't express.

"He was," I replied, the lump in my throat making me sound high-pitched. For a long moment we simply stared at each other. He opened his mouth to speak, and shut it again with a small, apologetic smile, his eyes still slanted in empathy. There was nothing more that either of us could say on the subject.

"So why are you here?" I asked again, softer this time. He looked at me guiltily, as though it now felt disrespectful to bring up anything else after what I'd told him. "It's okay," I insisted, rubbing at a healing cut on my forearm.

"It's just…I…I wanted to say sorry for earlier," he said uncomfortably, and I saw that my gun was still at his hip, the same one he'd pointed at my head earlier that day with no indication that he hadn't planned on using it.

"We ended the coup," I said, glancing down to avoid his eyes because I _definitely_ didn't feel ready for this conversation, "you don't have to be sorry."

"I mean I'm sorry for how it all went down," he corrected me quickly, "It was pretty messed up, I'd just come out of hospital, barely made it to the Council in time. Had to fight off Cerberus every step of the way, no armour, _nothing_ but my biotics and the gun you gave me, and I just…I didn't expect to see you there. It threw me off. I…" The words had been tumbling out of his mouth, but now he stopped to take a deep breath, and it felt like this was the only part of his apology that he hadn't rehearsed, "I know we've argued before, but I never actually thought we'd be pointing guns at each other. I…_didn't_ like it."

_Except I wasn't aiming at you_, I thought, _I was aiming at Udina. You were the one pointing a gun at me. And I understand why it happened, but _'didn't like it'_ doesn't come close to covering how I felt about having you look at me like I was your enemy. Again._

"It was a miscommunication," I said slowly, carefully, "that's all. You expected to see Cerberus, you've seen me _with_ Cerberus before, and Udina had that bullshit recording. Hell, I was just lucky it was you and not another Spectre because they wouldn't have hesitated to take me out." That part, at least, was true. The evidence that Udina had twisted up had been a stupid, _stupid_ mistake on my part. I'd been angry, I hadn't been thinking straight, and I'd played right into his hands. Any other Spectre would have shot me down without a second thought. Shit, _I'd_ have shot me down.

Kaidan didn't look convinced. "But—"

"If I was in your position," I went on, "and it was another Spectre I didn't know, _I'd_ have taken them out. I didn't like your gun in my face any more than _you_ did, but it was the right thing to do. You shouldn't doubt that."

_It was _objectively_ right, at least. The fact that you thought I could ever be a danger to you still hurt like hell, but I know you'll obsess over this unless I tell you it's okay. So fine, I'll tell you what you need to hear. _

"Except…" he looked at me sceptically, "you're just saying I only held my fire because it was _you_."

"_Yeah_, and it's a good thing too, because the fact that you trusted me means the Council are safe and the coup failed." I didn't tell him that if it had been any Spectre but _him_ standing there, I'd have taken them out, not wasted time trying to talk them down while Cerberus pounded at the door. If the Council freaked that would be fine – I'd just keep them there until Bailey arrived to explain why I'd killed a Spectre and a Councillor and that I _wasn't_ an assassin after all. But instead, I'd seen Kaidan in front of me, and I'd panicked because I'd known he wouldn't trust me, not in _that_ situation, and he wouldn't back down, but I'd also known that I wouldn't be able to shoot him, not even a graze to throw him off, and I'd been paralysed.

Kaidan turned his head to look out the window, forehead scrunched up as though he was trying to work something out. "And Udina's dead."

"Yeah," I said simply, still not sure how I felt about it, "he is."

He glanced back at me, whiskey-brown eyes just as soft as his voice, "And that was the right thing too?"

I lifted my shoulders in a weary half-shrug.

"I can't tell you that. I don't know. But I sure as hell won't be losing sleep over the fact that he's dead and we're alive." He still looked troubled. "Look, Kaidan, you can't beat yourself up over every little thing. You're gonna fuck up once in a while, sure, but you didn't fuck up _today_." _Not like me. Too slow. Too fucking slow, and now Thane's dead._ "You're a _Spectre_ now, and we're in the middle of the biggest disaster this galaxy's ever faced. There's no time to obsess over this stuff. All you can do is carry on."

I hated that I _understood_ why he'd pointed a gun at me. I wanted to be angry at him for it, but I knew him too well. I knew he didn't have a malicious bone in his body. I know he'd done all of it for the right reasons, just as every ugly thing he'd accused me of had been for the right reasons. And I hated him for it, even though…even though I still just wanted to wrap my arms around his waist, press my cheek against his chest, breathe him in and tell myself everything was _fine_.

I did nothing but watch as he nodded slowly, looking off through the window again at the huge cruisers passing us by. There was a crease between his brows, a line that said he was still deep in thought.

"Why are you _really_ here?" I asked, crossing my arms and dreading the answer but not knowing any way to escape.

"I've been offered a position in the fleet. With Hackett," he said gravely, and I swallowed so I wouldn't let on that my heart had just fallen down to my stomach and was tying things in knots, shooting adrenaline-laced blood _screaming_ through my body. I knew there was a chance that he wouldn't come back – at times I'd even _hoped_ for it so I wouldn't have to deal with all of this, but now, with the prospect right in front of me I just— "But…I'd give it up in a second if it meant I could be back on the Normandy. With you."

Hearing those words sent a cold blast prickling along my skin that froze the adrenaline in its tracks. It was a terrible idea, I knew that much for certain. I'd been in front of him for five minutes and already those warm, inviting eyes of his had turned me into a wound-up wreck, but…having him right there with me on the Normandy was also the least awful situation I could imagine right now. _Anything_ would be better than knowing he was on some distant planet fighting for his life, far away from me. As soon as the option had been put on the table, I'd realised that I couldn't stand to have it any other way.

Maybe I deserved to be a little selfish. A little foolish. Just for once.

"Really," I said, less of a question and more of a way to fill the expectant silence that stretched out before me.

"Yeah," he shrugged, as though it should have been obvious, "of course. I want to be serving with you again. It's the only place I could imagine being. Anywhere else and I'd just be constantly wondering if you were okay," there was a pause before he hastily added, "the _Normandy_, I mean. Maybe there's somewhere else I could be doing a better job, but…if these are the last days we have, I want to spend them fighting right next to you."

Our last days. Before I'd died above Alchera, my last days had been filled with more happiness than I'd ever known in my entire life before or since, and it was all thanks to the man standing in front of me. Looking at him now, I felt tense, stunned into silence by indecision. I knew that we could really, _really_ use someone like Kaidan on board, and that, tactically speaking, it was a sound decision, but I didn't know what it would do to my heart. I didn't know if I could see him every day, see those hands of his that had held me in my sleep, that I'd kissed only a few weeks ago, and not be able to reach out and touch them. I didn't know if – in the midst of everything else sapping my resolve day by day – I'd have it in me to get over him while he was right there. I didn't know if I _wanted_ to.

He was trying – just as I'd thought he would – to be kind to me. Civil. He still cared, that much I knew, but Kaidan cared about _everyone_. I almost wished he'd just be cruel so I could push him away, instead of giving me false hope by looking at me in a way that sent my heart racing. I wanted him to reach out, pull me closer and kiss me as though we'd die tomorrow. I wanted him to step back, be formal and salute, close himself off completely so that stupid thought would never enter my mind again. Most of all, I just wanted to stop feeling like this.

"What d'you say, Jena?" he asked finally.

"Okay," I heard myself say, apparently spurred on by the sound of my name on his lips. He broke out into a smile suddenly, and I stopped myself from smiling back. He was talking, something about how he could come aboard within an hour, but all I could hear was the sound of blood pumping in my ears as I realised he would actually be _on the Normandy_, where I couldn't pretend he didn't exist, or that he didn't have this ridiculous power over me.

That morning, in the space of a few hours, I'd gone from being terrified that he'd been hurt to aiming a gun at his head and desperately trying to convince myself that I'd be able to pull the trigger if I had to. Now, I didn't know what to think.

"And Jena," I snapped back to reality as I heard my name again, and saw him looking at me with such compassion that I almost flinched, "I want you to know that…whatever happens, I'll never, ever doubt you again. I've got your back. Until the end."

_Until the end. You've said that before. It didn't last long_.

"And I mean it this time," he continued, as if he could read my mind. It would make things much easier if he _could_, I thought. That way I wouldn't have to obsess over all the words I could never get past my lips. Things like _I miss you, _or even _I need you, I need you more and more as this goes on and I have no idea how I'm going to get through this in one piece without you and I have no idea when I became such a fucking weakling._ He looked as though he had more to say, but apparently thought better of it and just shook his head. "Look, you've got enough on your plate. I just-"

"Commander?" it was Joker, and his voice suddenly barking out from my omnitool almost made me jump.

"Go ahead," I spoke into my closed fist, turning away from Kaidan and trying to ignore the fact that he was still looking straight at me. Admiral Hackett was on vidcomm, and for once I was glad about Joker's horrible timing, because I _desperately _needed a distraction from today.

I mumbled my thanks, and as I moved past Kaidan something made me reach out and touch his shoulder, which tensed almost imperceptibly under my hand. I opened my mouth, but the words _'I'm glad you're here'_ got stuck in my throat and didn't come out. I couldn't manage _'We'll talk later'_ either. His eyes caught mine, something flickered, sparked between us, and I wondered why the hell I was torturing myself like this.

"Welcome aboard," I said neutrally, brushing past and not looking back.

* * *

**Chapter 24: Cracks – **With Kaidan back on the Normandy, Shepard finds it harder to bottle up how she feels. Kaidan starts to notice Shepard is cracking under the pressure, and he receives words of wisdom from the most unlikely candidate.


	24. Cracks

Chapter 24: Cracks

_Shepard_

"Well, I know _I_ was very impressed!" Diana gushed, splaying a well-manicured palm over her chest and smiling in a way that showed off every one of her too-white teeth. Kaidan shrugged dismissively and looked back down to his breakfast, his instinctive politeness meaning he couldn't just _ignore_ her as I had. I realised I was still glaring at the reporter, and immediately turned back to my coffee and the datapad I was supposed to be reading through. I really didn't need this shit after the night I'd just had.

In my dreams, Thane had joined the others, as had so many more faceless civilians who asked me why I hadn't paid more attention to my suspicions about Udina. If I had, I could have stopped him. I could have stopped all of it and Thane would still be alive, and Kaidan...well, who knew _where_ he would be if we hadn't been pointing guns at each other less than twenty-four hours ago. But I'd shrugged it off as paranoia, lack of sleep, the fact that Udina and I had always been at each other's throats. I should have learned by now to always trust my instincts, but I hadn't. And now another name had joined the memorial wall.

"I mean," Diana started again, "it's one thing that you've only officially been a Spectre for a few days, it's _another_ that you managed to get the Council to safety when none of the _other_ Spectres got anywhere close."

"That's not true," Kaidan replied patiently, ignoring the camera that floated over Diana's shoulder, the one she said was only for 'taking notes' and not actual footage. That was the only way she'd convinced Kaidan to give her an interview this early in the morning after I'd waved her off irritably as I so often did. It wasn't until I'd heard her chatting away while I made some coffee and then came into the mess hall that I realised it was _him_ she was talking to, and by then they'd both seen me and it had been too late to pretend I'd been going somewhere else. So I'd dropped into a chair at the other end of the table, and pretended that I had important reports that demanded my attention. I _did_ have important reports, but I still found myself listening in on the interview, drawn by the sound of his smooth, low voice.

"There were two other Spectres with the Council when I arrived," Kaidan continued, "One was killed trying to clear a path ahead, another got separated when our elevators were sabotaged. I happened to be nearest to the Council chambers when the alarms hit – that's why I was protecting them. It's what _any_ Spectre would have done. The first thing Spectre Shepard did when she arrived at the Citadel was fight her way to the Council – without her distracting Cerberus forces, we'd never have escaped."

_That's not true_, I thought. _The first thing I did when the transmission came in from Thane was to ask if _you_ were okay. I forgot that I was a Spectre for a moment, and all I cared about was making sure you were still alive and safe. I only thought about the Council afterwards, and I'm convinced that the only reason I fought my way to _them_ so quickly was because I knew _you_ were there too, and I thought you'd need my help._

But if he wanted to paint me in a good light, I'd let him. The galaxy didn't need to know that the very _idea_ of Kaidan Alenko still made me forget all about things like rank, due process and rational thought. I ignored the interview taking place, acted like I didn't hear, and feigned intense interest in the contents of my datapad.

"So I guess you could say that humans saved the day?" Allers trilled, pushing for a soundbite from the media-friendly half of the human Spectres. I pushed my hair back behind my ears so I could glance over out of the corner of my eye. Apparently I was terrible at ignoring things happening right next to me.

"No," Kaidan gave a quick shake of his head, looking a little bemused, "I wouldn't say that. _Shepard_ and the multi-species crew of the Normandy working together with C-Sec saved the day. I might have helped, but really I was just keeping things together until backup arrived. And don't forget that Cerberus is a terrorist organisation run by _humans_, and the coup attempt was by the human Councillor, Udina. At best, you could say that humans cleaned up their own mess, and even _that's_ pushing it." He looked back down to his breakfast and continued eating, apparently untroubled by the reporter hovering over him like a tan-coloured shadow.

"But at least this makes a good case for humans being in the Spectres, right? I've seen some of the surveillance footage – you had no armour, only one weapon, and you still managed to hold off huge numbers of enemy forces. I mean, all I could think was 'get this guy doing recruitment vids and we'll get lines around the block!'" she laughed as she shifted back, her hip jutting out to one side, the curve exaggerated by that tight, leathery dress she wore which I didn't understand the purpose of. She was giving him this little smirk, as if they were in on some private joke together and I felt my eyes narrowing in irritation. "At your Spectre initiation, they said you were the best biotic the Alliance had, and I've got to say I think they're right – I've never _seen_ some of the things you were pulling off. Just think, if they hadn't made you a Spectre, there's a good chance you wouldn't have thought to get to the Council, and the coup attempt could well have been successful."

"I think Shepard's already made a hell of a case for humans to be included in the Spectres," he said, glossing over her stupid comments about recruitment vids and looking over to me, "she's set the bar pretty damn high – I just hope I can live up to it one day."

I stared at my datapad as though it were a fascinating step-by-step walkthrough of Cerberus's master plan rather than an Alliance briefing for a mission on Eden Prime. I could feel their eyes on me as though they were burning through my skin, and took a long, relaxed sip of my coffee. I'd shown him enough weakness the day before.

"And does your placement on the Normandy have anything to do with your new Spectre status?" Diana asked, shifting her weight from one rounded hip to the other, the dress creaking ever so slightly.

"Yes and no," Kaidan replied carefully, "Being a Spectre means I can choose my own assignments, and I chose to serve on the Normandy. But that decision comes from the fact that I've worked with Shepard before when we were chasing Saren Arterius. I was there when Sovereign attacked and the galaxy was first threatened by Reapers, so I know what to expect, and I know what's at stake. This was always where I wanted to end up – being a Spectre just made it possible."

I'd barely started processing that statement when Diana blurted out another question: "Did your previous relationship with the Commander make it difficult to be on opposing sides yesterday? I mean before it became apparent that Councillor Udina was the one responsible for the coup. I understand things got a little _tense_."

The coffee mug stopped on its journey to my mouth and, hand frozen in the air, I glanced over to Kaidan who was looking right back at me. The words 'previous relationship' hung in the air like they were painted in neon lights that only he and I could see. Allers had no idea of the can of worms she was opening, that was, no doubt, why she was still cocking one hip and tilting her head alluringly at the Major. It made me angry, and then I was even angrier _because_ it made me angry – I had no reason to be jealous of her, he was _ignoring_ her, and besides, what did I care if he ignored her or not? What did it matter? It wasn't like the past between us had anything to do with-

"Yes," Kaidan said at last, looking back at the camera, "it made things difficult. No one likes to pull a gun on a friend. But it also made it possible for us to resolve the situation peacefully, and that's what matters."

"And Commander," Allers said, and I knew she'd turned to me because the light from the camera fell across my hands curled around the steaming mug. I didn't look up, and scowled against the bright light shining in my direction. "Same question to you."

I sighed to make it clear I really _didn't _feel like answering, and put the datapad down on the table. '_Difficult_' didn't even come close to covering how it had felt to look into Kaidan's eyes and realise that he wasn't lowering his weapon, even though it was pointed squarely at _me_.

"What question?" I asked, injecting a weary note into my voice that wasn't all artificial.

"Did the fact that you've worked with the Major before make it difficult to resolve the situation on the plaza yesterday?"

"No," I lied with casual ease, sipping my coffee, "It made things easier – I knew Major Alenko wouldn't fire on me, so it meant I had time to explain the situation. If it had been someone I didn't know, things may have gone very differently."

"You say you _knew_ the Major wouldn't fire. But what about _you_?" I glared up at her sharply, but she plunged on, oblivious, "You're known for ruthless tactics and your fierce, uncompromising approach to missions – would you have taken the shot if you _hadn't_ been able to talk him around?"

In my peripheral vision, I saw Kaidan tense up and stare resolutely at his breakfast, as if he wished he weren't there. I felt heat rushing through my body, and I wanted to punch the woman in front of me.

"_Am_ I?" I demanded, ignoring her actual question, "I thought I was just known for getting the job done – and seeing as we stopped the coup without being reduced to shooting at friendlies, I'd say I'm actually pretty damn _good_ at compromise."

"Even so, Commander," Diana insisted, "_could you_ have taken the shot?" She cocked an eyebrow inquisitively, as though she were asking a vid star about an on-set sex scandal, not a life or death situation where the entire fate of the galaxy had hung in the balance.

"I don't draw my gun unless I'm prepared to use it, Allers," I said darkly, knowing that it was total bullshit, "now if that's all, maybe you should run along – Spectre business." I jerked my head at Kaidan, and for a moment she looked as if she'd press me on a more detailed answer, but she thought better of it and the light on the camera dimmed as she turned it off. I might have been more subtle had I not been foggy with sleep deprivation, but as things stood I was exhausted, terse and, now, fuming. As soon as Diana left the room, I downed my coffee, refused to look at Kaidan, and got up to follow her.

Her expression brightened in surprise as I caught up with her in an empty corridor, but when she realised I wasn't smiling back, something close to worry crept across her face. When I pulled her smoothly into the empty starboard observation deck, the worry turned to dread.

"Commander, is there something—"

"The only reason you're on this ship is so you can show people what we're doing and why it's important," I said in a low, dangerous voice, "so if I ever think that you care more about your stupid little _Battlespace _show and your ignorant-ass viewers than you do about the _war_ and the people _dying_ back on Earth at this very second, I will kick you out of the damn airlock and I won't even check to see if we're docked. Do you understand me?"

One hand fiddled with the other as she looked up at me, flustered, "I was just—"

"You were just trying to rile me up and turn this whole damn thing into some kind of human-interest drama. You don't get automatic access to my crew, my decisions _or_ my motivations, you are here as a _courtesy_, Diana, so don't you _dare_ try to mess with me because I do _not_ have time for asshole reporters who just want some inside scoop on people who risk their lives every _fucking_ day. Your _only_ job is to make me and the Normandy look good, and if you can't do that without pissing me off then there won't be a place for you here, got that?"

"I...yes." For the first time since I'd met her, her eyes lost that glazed, perky slant to them, and she was suddenly serious. "I'm sorry, Commander. Force of habit, I guess. Won't happen again. And...don't worry," she raised her hands as if to placate me and gave a modest little smile, "The report I'm filing on the coup attempt is very flattering. You and Alenko saving the day."

I looked at her and found that I felt bad about snapping. Again. Everyone was coping with the Reapers in their own way. In the black expanse outside the observation window, I saw my own reflection and the cracks of scars working their way ever deeper into my skin. Some people were coping better than others.

"Give C-Sec some credit too," I replied in a softer tone, "they lost a lot of good people. And use this to highlight how totally fucking insane Cerberus are. We can't lose any more recruits to their lies, make _sure_ you push that angle as much as you can."

She nodded, still looking a little flustered. Her eyes slid over my shoulder, and I looked back to see Kaidan standing by the doors. I hadn't even heard them open. Diana glanced at him briefly as she went past to leave, but his eyes stayed glued to mine.

"Overstepping her bounds?" he asked vaguely, stepping into the room and letting the doors close behind him.

I shrugged, suddenly very conscious of the fact that we were alone together, "You could say that."

"Don't let it bother you," he shook his head, moving over to the window, "she's a reporter, they always push where they're not welcome. Hell, next time just say it's all _classified_."

"The actual shows aren't a problem anymore, it's these off-the-record interviews. She says they help her to 'build up the story'," I said disbelievingly, enjoying the fact that I could look out of the window and avoid looking at _him_, "but lately they've been getting more invasive. I think she just got cocky because she's the only ANN reporter who has the slightest idea of what's really happening." I sniffed, still a little annoyed, "Can't believe she actually had the balls to ask me that."

"If you could have taken the shot?" he asked neutrally, glancing over to me.

"_Yeah_. I mean…" I trailed off as I turned to him and realised that, actually, _he_ didn't look like he thought it was ridiculous at all. "Wait, you _do_ think it's a stupid question, right?" I demanded, folding my arms tightly over my chest as if to defend myself from how I felt about him.

"I…" he shrugged slowly, and I felt cold, "it's been a while since I've actually worked with you, Shepard. You've always been a _little_ ruthless, and no, I didn't think you'd _actually_ shoot me but at the time I couldn't assume that you weren't capable—"

"Do you even _know_ me?" I snapped, wondering when he'd started to think so _low _of me, and how I hadn't noticed. Did that mean _he'd_ thought about actually shooting _me_? I clenched my shaking hands into fists. "_No_, Kaidan, I wouldn't have shot you, not _ever_. I wasn't even pointing my gun at _you_ I was aiming at _Udina_. If anything, _you_ were pointing a gun at _me_ – and _that_ was fucked up."

His brows crashed together in confusion, "Yesterday you said you would have done the _same_-"

"But you're not _me!_" I meant for my voice to be hard, uncaring, but instead there was a tremor that gave away what was going through my head, and I watched his face fall, guilt welling up. _Damn it to hell_. "You're not me," I said again, quietly, "you're supposed to be _better_ than me. And you were suspicious, I get that, but you..." _You were pointing a gun at my head even though I thought you were someone who would never hurt me. I thought you'd always be on my side, deep down, but you were looking at me like I was an enemy, even though I've opened myself up to you more than _anyone_. And I understand why you did it, I _understand _but that just makes it worse because all it means is__ that__ I still can't hate you._

"I'm sorry," Kaidan said at last, spreading his hands as though he couldn't think of what else he could possibly say, "I...like I said, I was expecting Cerberus, and...I saw you. I freaked. But...I'd never hurt you, Jena," I hated how every time he said my name it sent a _crackle_ of electricity shooting up my back, "At least not on purpose."

He was looking at me with total sincerity in his eyes, and it hurt like hell. I breathed in a deep sigh, and even from here I could smell the sharp, cool eezo on his skin, and something else, something that was just _him_ and took me right back to the very first night we'd given in to each other. He'd never meant to hurt me, but he had. Of course he had. And I didn't know who to blame.

This was what we always seemed to do, I thought. This was the problem. We kept butting heads, running into each other because we found ourselves on opposite sides for the same good reasons. I understood why he hadn't backed down immediately, I _got_ that, but I _hated_ it. None of it had been _on purpose_, none of the pain we'd caused each other. I hadn't meant to die, but I did. No doubt he hadn't meant to make me feel like there had been _nothing_ between us, but he did. We hadn't meant to break apart in the first place, but the Collectors' guns had other plans. There was always _something else_ getting in the way. Something always held us back.

The definition of insanity was trying the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

I didn't know why I couldn't just accept that it was over and move on. I suspected it was because he kept saying things like _that_, which told me there was a time when he'd known me better than almost anyone, and had made me feel like he really, truly cared. I looked at him now, and in his eyes was nothing but distress at the idea that I'd _ever_ think he'd want to hurt me.

"Then why did you think _I _would?" I asked quietly, searching his face for an answer.

"I..." he caught himself from saying _'I didn't'_ because it would be a lie, but he apparently didn't like the truth either, and the words came out in a burst of frustration, "I don't know. I really don't. I mean at the time it seemed like I was just doing my job, you know? You were with Cerberus, I kept thinking that they could have implanted you with something, turned you into a sleeper agent." He breathed a humourless laugh, as though he couldn't believe he'd ever thought such things. If only he knew how right he'd almost been. If only he knew how I'd torn my own hair out some nights, convinced there was something else in my head. "But now…thinking about it all…I mean, all you've ever done is prove yourself, over and over again. I meant what I said yesterday – I won't doubt you ever again, I promise, but...all I can do is apologise for before. For all the other times too. I had good reasons, but...I know they weren't good enough. I don't know why it took me so long to see that."

"Because you're an _Alliance man first_," I quipped, unable to stop myself from throwing his own words from months ago back in his face as I turned back to the stars rushing past the Normandy. That was the other problem. It wasn't just that we clashed emotionally, each of us too stubborn and proud to back down first, it was that we were _professionals_ – him a Major, and I a legendary N7 agent, both of us Spectres. We'd advanced so far because we put the job first. We put those _responsibilities_ first. It was fine when they lined up perfectly, but when we clashed as we had on Horizon, the rift went deep. I pushed down the grimace that wanted to break out on my face and shrugged, not looking at him. "That's how it _had_ to be, right?"

_And I understood, even then, that things had to be that way, but that didn't make it easier. I don't mind always being the one to get my hands dirty, but I hated that it cut me off from you. It was then I realised that you'd _always_ been too good for me. I couldn't have expected things to go any other way. Nothing good ever lasted._

_You were always too good. Too kind. You didn't deserve to get dragged down with me and the SR-2, but…I wanted you to _want_ to._

_I always thought, secretly, stupidly, that I was the only thing you might have cared about more than the Alliance._

_I guess I was wrong._

"Why did you shoot Udina?" he asked suddenly, still looking at me even though I kept my eyes firmly on the outside world, "I had the shot too, you _saw_ me. Why'd you take it?"

Too late, I realised I'd given myself away. Maybe it had been my words, my tone, the hurt I tried to hide on my face. Maybe he'd been replaying that moment over and over again as I knew he would – when I'd seen his finger tighten around the trigger, his body tensing up in anticipation, but I'd been faster. Some innate impulse to protect him rose up inside me and I'd taken the shot instead. I don't know why I'd assumed he wouldn't wonder about it, or figure things out. Maybe I'd thought that if I ignored it he would do the same and I wouldn't have to explain myself.

"It wasn't supposed to be a kill shot," I replied casually, still not looking at him, "He moved at the last second, it went through his heart instead of his shoulder."

"You didn't answer me," Kaidan insisted, and I felt his eyes burning into the side of my head.

"Because I hated him?" I tried, not putting any effort into making it convincing as I glanced up at him. He gave me a stern look that said I couldn't roll my eyes out of this one, and I sighed sharply, "Because you'd been a Spectre for _ten minutes_ and I didn't want the first thing on your record to be that you put a bullet in your own Councillor. Kind of sets a nasty precedent, don't you think?" As I spoke, he sighed sharply and looked off to one side, as though he'd just had some unpleasant news confirmed. Of course he'd known that was why. For all his thick-headedness, Kaidan still knew me better than almost anyone alive.

"I've already got a hell of a body count," I said gravely, "and I don't mind Udina being on that list. This way, your record's clean. _That's_ why I took the shot."

I hoped he hadn't figured out all of it. I hoped he thought it was just professional courtesy, and not the fact that I had _enough_ civilian blood on my hands, so what was one more death? I _had_ hated Udina – Kaidan didn't, he was blameless in all of this and that was how I'd wanted it to stay. He would obsess about it even _more_ if it had been him pulling the trigger. He'd wonder if he'd done the right thing until it ate away at him and his convictions. He'd wonder if he'd acted with integrity, with the best interests of the _Alliance_ in mind instead of just a desire to follow me and my orders blindly. I'd wanted to spare him that.

And I _had_ meant it as a kill shot. I didn't miss.

With me behind Udina's death, it could be my fault instead of his failure to protect the Council. This way, he was innocent, and, as Diana had been all too happy to point out, he was now a real life hero for his role in stopping the coup. No one expected better of _me_ – when you put Commander Shepard into a situation it was because you wanted it to be _resolved_. No one cared about my morals. Most people thought I didn't _have_ any. Kaidan was different, _better_. He was perfect, I thought as he scratched at the back of his head anxiously, flexing those beautifully-sculpted muscles. A perfect Alliance poster boy, and he _meant_ everything he said, too – all that shit about honour and honesty with yourself and others. That was why he was better than me, and always would be. I'd fucked up so much in my life – one more death was nothing to me but would mean everything to _him_. In that split-second moment, with Udina in my sights, I'd just wanted to protect him from his own conscience.

His brows pulled together in worry, and I hated how my heart seized up painfully as I took in his profile. This was the most time I'd spent near him since I'd been brought back to life. The strain of not being able to reach out and touch him was starting to wear me down.

"We can't keep doing this, you know," he said quietly, dropping his arm and turning back to me, "Whatever this is, we need to get over it if we're going to work together."

"Get over what?" I asked flippantly, a lump constricting my throat.

"_This_," he gestured at the space between us, "Whatever it is that means we can't talk to each other without _bickering_. Hell, Jena, you couldn't even tell me you did something _nice_ without scowling at me. You're still scowling _now_."

I tried to twist my lips into a scowl to show what I thought of that, but realised that my features were already arranged that way. I didn't know why I could only seem to snap and glare at him. Maybe it was because it was _that_ or sit on the floor with my head in my hands and sob about the Reapers and Cerberus and all these problems I was expected to solve _or else_. Now, though, I let the irritation drain from my face, told myself to stop being childish, and stared out neutrally at the star-scattered sky.

"I don't want things to be like this," he went on, sadness in his voice, "not with you. We need to fix it."

"And how do we do that?" I didn't look at him because I felt the tension prickling all over my skin as I that _this_ could be it, the talk we desperately needed to have, and if it was then I wasn't ready, would _never_ be ready to swallow my pride long enough to tell him why I was acting this way. A cold fist of fear clenched itself around my stomach as I wondered if this would be the part where he'd crush every hope I still had that we might ever be the way we were. I didn't even know why I kept those hopes alive.

"We're going to Eden Prime next, right?" he asked to my surprise.

This, at least, was familiar territory, and I pushed my shoulders back to make myself feel like I was _in charge_ of this room and this situation instead of floundering uselessly. "With Liara, yeah. Landing in ten standard hours."

"Then take me with you. We have to work together, so let's just throw ourselves back in at the deep end and learn to trust each other _that_ way. We're both professionals – we can leave all of _this_ on the ship," he gestured between the two of us absent-mindedly, as though there were some invisible force field that made us misunderstand and resent each other, "We both know combat is what we do best, anyway."

_No,_ I thought, _it may be what we do best individually, but I always thought we worked better together in bed, even if I can't say that now, can't even _think _it because when I look at you now I'm not sure it ever happened._

I caught my own reflection in the window again, and the woman I saw who was cracking at the edges was a stranger to me. This war was grinding me down. Every day, things only got worse.

It didn't matter. I'd rest when I was dead. I'd rest when the mission was done.

"I guess so," I said dispassionately, ignoring the frustration that welled up in my throat as words bubbled to the surface that I just couldn't bring myself to _say_.

"Look, it'll...it'll come back," he insisted, apparently sensing my reluctance, "It was good working with you on Mars, despite everything else. I _missed_ it, you know? Vega told me about the things you pulled off on Tuchanka, said you were weaving through a Reaper's legs, jumping off the walls, taking on three brutes at once..." there was a self-conscious little smile on his face, and I knew he was trying to be friendly, just as he used to be when we'd talk about all the ridiculous things we'd done in our time, boasting about old kills when we were just comrades in arms instead of ex-lovers. "I wanted to be there, with _you_. I hated that I missed out on it all. Working together...it can be just like old times."

_No,_ I thought_, it won't._ In 'old times' what made our missions so exhilarating was the spark of attraction, something new, the fun I had trying to impress him, the way he'd grin right back at me from across the battlefield and make me feel beautiful and invincible all at once. Now, whatever was between us was no longer a spark, it was a flame that burnt so bright that I couldn't even _look_ at him without being blinded by it, but to Kaidan it was nothing but ashes. That was what he was trying to do. Force me to move on, just as he had, because after all it had been nothing, right?

I wished I weren't so goddamn _stubborn_.

I wished he weren't so fucking _nice_ so I'd stop thinking there was hope. We were stuck, it seemed. We couldn't fix what was broken between us, we _couldn't_ just be soldiers because to get to _that_ point we'd have to deal with all the rest of it – the reason why things were now so _difficult_, and neither of us wanted to break the stoic silence by bringing it up. I sure as hell wouldn't start. It was too dangerous. It left me too vulnerable.

I wished I could look at him without getting this childish rush of affection and this spiteful, teenage need to push him back, hurt him as bad as he'd hurt me, even if he'd never meant to, just so I could remind him that _I_ was in charge of my own emotions, and I was immune to all this _shit_. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a real night's sleep. I looked up at Kaidan now, and all I wanted was for him to grab my shoulders, pull me close and _kiss_ me hard, kiss me just like he used to so I could forget about everything else and just feel _alive_ for a little while.

God fucking _damn_ it all to hell.

I could shout down world leaders, tell them exactly what was on my mind, but I couldn't look at the man in front of me and say the words '_I still like you a lot more than I should, and I still don't give a shit about the regs, and I'd really like it if you could just fall for me again so I could stop feeling like every time I'm with you I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, because I can't deal with the Reapers _and_ deal with this one-sided thing with you at the same time._

_I can't keep pretending it never happened._

_It hurts too much_.

I took him to Eden Prime, in the end. And I tried not to think about how much had changed since the last time our boots hit the ground of that persecuted little colony. It was nothing like 'old times'.

Kaidan had been right about one thing, though. As soon as we'd started battling against Cerberus, he and I fell back into sync as if we'd never been apart. Action was always easier than words, and in the middle of a firefight was where I felt most at peace these days. At least _there _I knew I was doing the right thing, and my own skills and love of battle became my impenetrable armour. At my side, Kaidan had always been capable, but now he didn't hold back. He'd charge forward just as I did, getting stuck right in to the action where before he'd just act as support. He'd advance just as I'd swing out of cover, he'd floor a pillar of agents with one gesture and I'd pick them off like it was a practice range. Cerberus hadn't been expecting us, and working with him, the fights were almost _too_ easy. I'd heard it said that he was the best biotic the Alliance had, but only now was I really paying attention to what that _meant_. What I'd seen on Mars had only been the tip of the iceberg.

I thought back to when he'd been my Lieutenant, how he'd seemed troubled by his own power. I remembered the things I'd said to him then, and I wondered how much _I'd_ had to do with the new, hardened man that was now a Major and a Spectre.

Once, when we were surrounded by almost enough troops to get me worried, he told me with an excited glint in his eye that if I managed to get on top of the crate I was crouched behind, he could put me on top of the mech that was hammering away at our defences. I had no idea how that would work, but this whole mission _was_ supposed to be an exercise in trust, right? I leapt on the crate, right into the crossfire, and before I knew what was happening I was surrounded by biotic energy that was just _propelling _me forward like I was in freefall through the air. I flew past the lines of Cerberus soldiers, and the blast cut out just as I found myself nearing the mech. With the momentum I'd gathered I swung around its head, gripped its neck tight with my legs and drove my omniblade into the vulnerable spot where the armour joined together at the back. As it sparked and jerked with its last, desperate movements, I threw myself to the ground and rolled as it crushed a handful of agents and exploded, finding when I got to my feet that he'd kept me wrapped in a barrier the entire time.

I caught his eyes then, my mouth slack with panting, and I forgot all about our past, all the reasons why I wanted to keep him _away_, and all I could see was the power radiating from his stance, blue fire crackling around his irises, the hungry smirk on his face that I'd seen on mine so many times before when a plan just _worked_. When the adrenaline was pumping hot and fast, it was hard to remember why I wasn't supposed to feel this way about him.

We took out the remaining troops with brutal efficiency, working in perfect tandem just as we'd used to. It was only when they were all gone and we were left standing together surrounded by the broken bodies of Cerberus commandos that I felt the discomfort creeping back. When I looked at him and he smiled back at me, hesitant but genuine, I felt the spike of pain that came every time I remembered that he'd once been mine and now he _wasn't_.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

Just before I'd gone to the Alliance HQ – a day before it all happened– I'd seen my parents for a few hours. It had been brief, but I hadn't seen them in a while, and even then I'd had the uneasy feeling that I should take the opportunity while it was there. I'd given my mom the details of an encrypted channel with high level clearance codes in case something should happen and she needed to get in touch with me. She'd asked me what I'd meant then, and I'd told her and dad just to be ready for the absolute worst. He'd looked at me then with steely resolve in his eyes as he nodded, as though I were his CO – he'd retired, but he still respected the chain of command and I definitely outranked him.

Two days after the attack, before every comm relay in the sol system was destroyed, mom had got a message through. They'd escaped Vancouver. They'd been safe. But then dad had left to join the resistance. He wasn't young – hell he was pushing sixty – but he'd been a marine all his life, and he could still hold a gun. I should have known he wouldn't be able to sit back and hide. _I_ sure as hell wouldn't have stood for that. She hadn't seen him since, and I'd had no word either.

I'd been in hospital at the time, still unconscious, but the message had reached me on the Normandy eventually. And now I had no idea if my mom was still alive, and as the days went past and the situation on Earth grew worse and worse, I'd started to come to terms with the idea that I'd never see my dad again.

Shepard had asked me what was up in that brusque, sharp way of hers when she'd seen me in the War Room before as I'd stared at the message like I couldn't understand what the words meant. I'd told her. Her face had fallen at once, the wall of indifference had vanished, and I'd seen her mind working behind her fiery eyes, searching for something she could do, imagining a rescue mission she could mount, perhaps, people she could call, but she'd come up empty. This was a problem not even Commander Shepard could fix.

'_I'm…I'm so sorry,'_ she'd said, her face contracting in genuine distress that there was nothing she could do, '_I…don't know what else to say. I'm sorry. I hope…I hope they're both okay.'_

There were a lot of those conversations going around these days. Everyone on the Normandy had lost someone close.

I remembered the first time Jena and I had spoken about parents, when she revealed that she honestly couldn't have cared whether her mother was dead or alive. I saw it in her face when she looked at me helplessly just a few days ago, conflict dancing over her face, guilt for not having or caring about a family when others were grieving over theirs, guilt for not knowing how she was supposed to react. She'd told me, with total earnestness, that we were doing good work on the Normandy. That we were the only hope _anyone_ in the galaxy had. She'd told me, just as I had when we first left Earth, that this was the only thing we could be doing.

It had made me feel better, that clumsy but sincere attempt at comfort. Managing to wring sympathy out of Shepard at a time like this meant that you knew for a fact that your issues were real. She'd lost so many friends. So had I. It wouldn't end any time soon.

At least, I'd thought as I'd scanned through the last page of reports from Earth, there was no hard confirmation that either of my parents had been killed. That hadn't meant anything in itself, of course, the casualty reports were in the millions, but…there was a lot of empty space left in Canada. A lot of hiding places. The Reapers wouldn't have got there just yet. There was still a chance. There was always hope. We could rebuild what he had lost.

The Citadel had been attacked, almost taken over, but a week had passed and you almost couldn't tell that anything had happened. Most of the damage had been centred around the Presidium, and now as we walked back through Zakera Ward the only sign that it had been caught up in a vicious fire-fight were the burn marks dotted about the walls.

Shepard had remarked that she couldn't believe people were still walking around, going about their business like there wasn't a _war_ on. She said it was something about this place, and I had to agree. The Citadel was a world away from the planets and colonies we'd visited since I'd come aboard the Normandy. It was like they pumped narcotics into the air to make people calm and happy enough to spend money and act like nothing was wrong.

It was only when you went to the embassies that you saw the signs of real conflict – lines a mile long, refugees desperate for information, for transport, friends and family holding each other and sobbing. I'd met Shepard outside the Spectre HQ once she was done with updating the Council, and even walking to the elevator had been a gauntlet of people begging her for help. Everyone knew who she was, but if she stopped to talk to all of them she'd spend hours explaining why she couldn't take the Normandy to some remote colony on the other side of the galaxy to pick up someone's grandmother before the Reapers hit. Instead, she'd grit her teeth and made brief apologies as we moved past all the people we wouldn't be able to help. It must have been exhausting.

I tried to take her mind off it by talking about _anything_ else, but it was still difficult. _Working_ together wasn't the problem, now – we'd always been unstoppable on the battlefield, and that hadn't changed – it was the rest of the time. The downtime which we used to spend chatting, trading war stories and pretending to work on the first Normandy was now spent with her apparently doing her very best to avoid me, and I didn't know why. When we spoke, more often than not she was curt, tense, and I had no idea how I could make it better.

The problem, I knew, was that I still couldn't look at her without wondering why the hell I hadn't kissed her in almost three years when she was _right there_ in front of me and still as beautiful as ever, even _with_ the scars that had ripped open her face, even _with_ the dull sheen to her tired eyes and pale skin. I kept trying to make up for the time I'd wasted in suspicion and fear by being friendly, open, _trusting_, building back up the rapport we used to have, but it was like she'd thrown up a mental block against it, and every time she realised we were having an actual conversation she would just shut down inside.

I'd see it, the shift in her expression, the way she'd stop herself short from laughing or smiling and instead close up and look away, make an excuse to leave. She was like a raw, feral version of the woman who had taken my breath away on the first Normandy, worn away by the stresses of this war until she'd retreated back into her shell. It broke my heart to see, but I couldn't blame her for not accepting my help. I was at fault, _I'd_ fucked up, and she didn't owe me a damn thing. Even if it had all seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, now my suspicions and the way I'd acted made me feel guilty as hell. I couldn't expect her to let me walk back into her life just like that. Especially not now. The war had been hard on everyone, but Shepard was the one with the galaxy on her shoulders. That kind of responsibility would tear down a lesser person.

James had told me about Tuchanka, the mind-blowing things they'd accomplished in such a short time. He'd told me about the moment when the cure was dispersed, chemical spores raining down like snowflakes, the awed silence punctuated only by the blasts tearing apart the shard tower. They'd all stood there and watched the real, physical manifestation of all the hardship and pain that had gone into achieving that one moment of victory. He'd told me, vaguely, that it must have '_hit Shepard someplace hard'_. I'd asked him what he meant, pressed him for a real answer, and he told me that he'd just seen her standing there, perfectly still, staring at the top of the tower with a pained smile on her face and tears running down her cheeks. Within a space of a few minutes, she'd given an entire species a bright new future, and watched a friend walk off to die.

'_I don't think she even knew I was there,'_ he'd said, '_Weirdest damn thing I've ever seen, but…good too, y'know? Guess sometimes I forget she's actually human.'_

I think everyone forgot that sometimes. I was guilty of it too. I'd known her well once, or at least I'd thought I did, but since then her legend had grown, and it was hard not to think of her as above everything, as though just because she had to deal with the largest things in the galaxy the smallest things couldn't possibly bother her. But that wasn't how it worked – war tended to put things into perspective. The little things suddenly became so important, so _vital_, but you felt guilty for caring when there was so much else around you. It was like how you'd scan a casualty list for a name you knew, and not tell anyone how relieved you were not to find it because it felt disrespectful to all the names that _were_ there. In a war like this, small victories were sometimes enough to get you through the day.

I should have known better than to think of her that way. I should have known more than _anyone_ how human she was. I looked at her now as we wove through one of the emergency housing bays, caught the hardness of her mouth as she glanced from cluster to cluster of refugees, and I wished I could take some of the load from her. I wished I could comfort her somehow, tell her I _understood_, but…I didn't know how to get close without her just shutting me off like I'd said some kind of trigger word. It was getting more and more frustrating, like trying to get a straight answer out of a sullen teenager. I wanted to corner her, _insist_ that she actually talk to me, maybe even tell her how I still felt, but…she had so much to worry about already. I hated to just be another person piling on, demanding her attention.

That was part of the reason why I hadn't told her that my headaches were getting worse. As long as my biotics still worked, as long as I could still fight, the cost didn't matter, right? There was a war on, and it was on, and it was one we had to win.

The tension had eased in the last few days, at least. Maybe she was getting used to me being around again, starting to trust me after we'd found ourselves on opposite sides. It was a start, but the constant anxiety of the war had done her no favours, and now she was snapping at _everyone_, not just me.

She still wasn't sleeping enough. She wore the glazed, agitated expression of an insomniac, and there were dark, purplish rings around her pale eyes.

The cut that had sliced through the bridge of her nose – a gift from one of the three brutes on Tuchanka – wasn't healing well either. Chakwas told me it was the stress. She'd taken to sparring with James to relieve it, but what she needed wasn't more fighting – it was to take an actual _break_. Whenever I'd suggested she do just that, she'd look at me darkly and rattle off the casualty figures or some report from Earth or stats from the latest colony to be hit, and there would be nothing I could say to convince her that the galaxy wouldn't end if she took an hour for herself.

That was why I was now trying to take her mind off things by answering her questions about my work with the biotic special ops division. I told her everything I could think of just so I could keep talking – all about my students, their distinct talents, their personalities, some of the training we'd done, and I made absolutely no mention of the Reapers, or the fact that all my students could well be husks by now.

"It was a good few months," I said with a shrug as we passed by a group of batarians growling at each other, "felt like I was actually making a difference in their lives. Hell, I wish _I'd_ had something like that when I was a kid. Just to be told I wasn't a freak would've saved me a lot of teenage angst."

There was the slightest suggestion of a smile on her lips as she glanced up to the large windows where a cruiser was passing by. "I hear that. If the Shepard Memorial Foundation for Fucked-Up Strays had been around when I was a kid I could've skipped the whole life of crime part and moved straight on to being a soldier. I'm glad they didn't shut the Foundation down when it turned out I was still alive." Neither of us mentioned that the Foundation was based in a city that had now been razed to the ground. Neither of us mentioned that all the kids it had recruited were probably dead. "Do you want to keep teaching after the war?" She asked suddenly, keeping her eyes forward and leaving everything _else_ about the war unsaid.

It was a coping mechanism, I realised, to assume that there was life after all of this, to assume that we'd win. There was that eternally optimistic idea that if you just believed in yourself enough you could achieve anything, you could _amaze_ yourself with your own potential. It was a very human thing to think – something about stubbornness and pride, _refusing_ to give up when things were at their worst. It was also typical of Shepard. She was the best because it had never occurred to her that there was something she couldn't do. She'd imagine the world how she wanted, and then _make_ it that way through sheer force of will. It had always worked before, but under the pressures of the war, that resolve was cracking.

"Sure," I replied, going along with the illusion, "yeah, I guess." The automatic '_depends if there are any of my students left alive' _or '_depends on how long this war takes'_ was left unsaid. "Always wanted to teach when I got sick of fighting – and besides, I'm a Spectre now. Can't advance much further than that."

"I don't know," she shrugged, pulling her shoulders tight together as she squeezed through a gap in the crowd, "After I got my Star of Terra I thought 'this is as good as it gets, so what else am I gonna do?' But there's always more fights, more promotions, more challenges. Joining the Spectres was basically as big as it _could_ get, but…things still got bigger."

Her lips pressed together thinly, a crease appearing between her brows, and I forced some joviality into my voice, "Then what about you? Got any grand plans after the war?"

"_Grand plans_, huh?" she echoed with mock-gravitas, shooting me a cynical look.

"Yeah, you know, the stuff everyone says they're going to do when this is all over with. Visiting a star system you've never been to, retiring to a sunny colony somewhere," I glanced over to her, "killing something you've never killed," and felt a thrill when her not-quite-smile broke out into a smirk.

"You know, I've never killed an elcor. Doesn't seem fair, they're so docile." Her brows twitched together suddenly in thought, "No, wait, I have. Only one, though. Some kind of merc – though that's pretty rare. Did you know they mount guns on their back?" she shrugged, "Guess I can scratch that off the list."

The slightest hint of optimism in her voice made me press her for an actual answer, "There must be _something_."

"That I haven't killed? Ain't a species alive I haven't put down. Except for a Prothean," she wrinkled her nose, a cute little gesture that didn't fit with her scarred face, "but I've killed a lot of Collectors so I think it counts."

"No, something you want to do when it's all over with. Something that keeps you going." I looked at her and realised I had no idea what she wanted for the future. She never spoke about it, and I'd never brought it up while we were together. It felt like it would shatter the illusion we'd woven together. That was why I couldn't demand she be a part of my future now. She'd never owed me anything.

She breathed a laugh, but it was humourless, self-conscious, and her eyes dropped to the floor as we walked on.

"I've dodged a lot of bullets, Major, but one's got to hit eventually. I mean I've already died _once_. I just…don't think it's too smart to assume I'll be around to see the world after the war." There was such resignation in her voice, like the thought didn't even bother her. How long had she been feeling this way? I thought of her actually dying _again_, and it terrified me.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked quickly.

She sighed, as though she was regretting even bringing it up. "It's not that I don't think we've got a chance of winning – we _do_ – it's just I don't think the odds are in my favour this time. And besides, I've done a lot in my life, had a lot of second chances. If this is my last one, I'm okay with that."

"Don't _say_ that," I insisted, and now it was her turn to glance up at me in confusion.

"What?" The question was such an innocent one, as though I were freaking out over nothing instead of her casually mentioning that she had a deathwish. I stopped in my tracks, and she turned back to me, the refugees scurrying from place to place all around us.

A few days ago I'd taken a call from Anderson. He'd asked for me instead of Shepard, and I realised why when he said, gravely, that he was worried about her. He said that someone needed to keep an eye on her because _he_ couldn't. He'd told me not to let her feel sorry for herself, or think herself into a black hole of stubborn, childish anger at the world around her. It was then I remembered that he probably knew her better than anyone else alive, even me.

He reminded me that she had a past, and that it was ugly. For Jena, the years before the Alliance were filled with constant pain and fear and uncertainty, the need to go it alone and trust nothing and no one but yourself. She was trying, he said, and she'd progressed a lot in the past few years, but situations like this made her…revert. He was right. I'd seen it in how she acted on the Normandy – iron-clad control when it came to missions and negotiations, but with only the shakiest of grasps on her own needs and limits.

Anderson was probably the first person in her life that she'd ever really learned to _trust_ unreservedly, and even that had taken years and years of constant reassurance to break down the barriers she'd put up out of necessity. He'd told me cryptically that there was a time when she'd trusted me too, and that _that_ was what she needed on the Normandy.

In her hollow eyes now, I saw the lost, lonely, dejected child she had been. She would never give up on the mission, I knew that much, but she was too close to giving up on herself.

How could I make her understand? All I wanted to do now was gather her up in my arms, take her away from all of this, keep her safe, tell her what she meant to me, even now, _still_, after all this time.

"You've never…" _You've never given up before, not even when you died, you can't give up on yourself now._ It would be useless to say that, though, when I would just be another person demanding she be forever vigilant, _demanding_ she act a certain way so I could sleep at night. "Just…" I tried again, "…don't say that. And don't _think _it, either. You're not the only one who likes to see you alive and well at the end of a mission, okay?"

Her lips parted then, her brows twisting together as though it had never occurred to her before that she had a duty to others that went beyond just _saving_ them all. The clouds parted from her glassy expression, and at once the amber in her eyes became piercing, lucid, as though she was looking right inside my head.

"It's not just me," I continued now that I had her actual attention, "Everyone on the Normandy cares about you. _Everyone_. And it's not just because you're their Commander. We all want to see you come back alive." _I just want to see you smile again, Jena. I want to see a real, genuine smile break out on your face, and I don't even care if I'm the one to make it happen, I just want you to be happy._

I saw it at once, the switch in her manner at the exact point when she realised the conversation had moved onto actual, serious territory. She glanced away, slouched back, pressed her lips together tight, a teenager brushing off a scolding. "Is this another pep talk?"

"No," I replied, just as seriously as before, not wanting her to get away this time, "This is just me telling you that I care. Whatever you think about yourself, or about me, _I still care_. That _never_ changed."

Her eyes moved back up to mine, and for a flash they were defenceless again, the briefest show of vulnerability. All around us, the docks were bustling and full of movement, but here we were in the centre of it all, in our own little world, stones in the middle of a stream. This wasn't the place, and it wasn't the time, but there was a spark in the way she looked at me, something new, something like confusion and turmoil and uncertainty, but this time she wasn't running away.

She opened her mouth, lips forming the first shapes of words that she wouldn't say out loud, her expression lost.

"Shepard!" I heard someone yell from behind me, "_Shepard!_"

She didn't look, she ignored it as she so often did on the Citadel, but the noise had thrown her, and now her face drew together in frustration at the silence that stretched out before us which she couldn't seem to fill.

"I don't—" she started quickly.

"Hey, _Lo_la!" I heard a familiar voice shout from the same direction as before. Whatever private space we'd created around us was lost as she looked over my shoulder and her face lit up with recognition. I turned and saw James Vega standing with a group of marines, an eyebrow cocked expectantly. I'd heard him call her that before, casually, like a pet name, and it had irritated me even though I had no right to be irritated. It was clear there was nothing between them but friendship, but it hinted at a kind of closeness, an intimacy that we'd lost.

She moved to stand next to me as James and one of the marines – must have been the one that called her earlier – made their way through the crowd. As she caught the eye of the second man, her lips twisted into a humourless smirk.

"Well that's just fan-_fucking__ -_tastic," she mumbled under her breath

He came into view, and I realised I recognised him, but from where? He was built and broad, with a crew cut and a thick scar cutting across his right eye, dog tags proudly on display. A flash of memory hit me, that stifling club, a marine putting his arm around the woman I was there to see, whispering into her ear, the stab of anger I got back then and even now when I realised that it hadn't just been a random encounter – she _knew_ him.

"Of course you two would know each other," Jena said dryly, as they arrived.

"Yeah," Vega swatted the other man lightly on the shoulder, "me 'n' Ford go all the way back to basic training. How'd you guys meet?"

"A mission," Ford said, at exactly the same time as Jena said "The Ns." There was a forced casualness there that made it obvious there was more to it.

Jena glanced at me quickly, cautiously, while James looked between the two of them as though he didn't believe a word either. "No kidding," he replied.

She jerked her head up at the N7 symbol I'd only just noticed adorning Ford's fatigues. "Done well for yourself since then, I see."

He shrugged, "Yeah, well, we can't all drop off the radar for a two-year holiday, eh, Shepard? Got another rank in the pipeline too – soon I'll be able to boss _you_ around."

She folded her arms, "Still a _Spectre_."

"Hey, I remember," he looked over at me, as if only just noticing I was there, and let out a long, low whistle, "Two Spectres in one day. I _must_ be moving up in the world." He held out his hand and I shook it with slightly more force than was necessary, a childish part of me enjoying the fact that I was a few inches taller than him. "Commander Luca Ford. Good to meet you, Major Alenko. Big fan."

I wondered, then, if he recognised me as I recognised him. I wondered if he'd seen us in that club, if she'd told him about me afterwards. I wondered if they'd spoken since she came back from the dead, if he'd found her somewhere _else_ when I wasn't around. There was familiarity in how they spoke to each other, but tension too. Old lovers, I realised, and looking at him made me want to fire up my biotics, the unfamiliar and unnecessary jealousy making me feel like I was some kind of alpha male asshole trying to show dominance. I was about to respond, maybe ask him what an N7 and their squad was doing on the Citadel, but Jena beat me to it.

"What do you want?" she asked hastily, as though desperate for the conversation to be over. I couldn't tell if it was because she didn't want _me_ to figure out who _he_ was, or if it was the other way around.

Ford didn't seem to notice, and smirked at her like nothing was wrong, "Just wanted to get a snap of you with my squad – the Major too, if that's cool. The boys didn't believe me when I said I'd worked with the great Commander Shepard. And the two human Spectres here at once? Too good an opportunity to pass up."

She smiled thinly, "why the hell not?"

I agreed too, reasoning that it was because I wanted to boost morale and not because I just wanted to glare at Ford as though I had any right to be jealous. Together with Vega we moved over to his waiting squad who kept their eyes on us like we were living legends. I supposed we were. Of course everyone wanted to crowd around Jena – she was the real legend, the Alliance hero of mythical proportions. She was the only one to ever kill a Reaper – she'd stopped the first attack on the Citadel, she'd stopped the Collectors, and she'd been a legend long before she was a Spectre. Still, it had been a while since I'd thought of her that way. From the first moment I'd said her actual name out loud she'd stopped being Shepard to me. And even now when she was looking straight at the camera with something close to pride picking up her tired face, all I could see was _Jena_, the woman I'd had for that short, perfect time. The one I'd lost.

She made her excuses shortly after meeting the squad and headed to the Normandy with Vega, who I overheard telling her he wanted to show her something he'd picked up in the markets. I stayed behind to collect a special delivery from the customs office, and I noticed as I left that Ford's gaze stayed on Jena until she was out of sight. As soon as she was gone, he turned to me and the flicker in his eyes made it clear that he'd recognised me instantly, and not just because of my title. Still, there wasn't a challenge in the look he gave me, not even close. Instead he lifted his head in a respectful acknowledgement as his squad headed off, and I did the same back, feeling stupid for ever being jealous. After all, when it came down to it he and I were just Alliance soldiers, comrades in arms. We should have had bigger things to worry about than the one that got away, even if she was _still_ the only thing on my mind when I finally made my way back to the Normandy.

I strode into the hangar bay with a package under my arm, and my head snapped up as I heard _her_ voice, husky yet oddly high-pitched.

"I _want_ you, soldier."

I froze for a split second of total illogical panic, and then I heard her and James burst into peels of barely-contained laughter, a sound rarely heard these days. _What the hell?_

"Stop making me say stupid shit," she demanded in a voice that sounded more familiar, and as I rounded the corner I saw her aim a half-hearted kick at Vega's legs while he crouched by one of those _goddamn_ Shepard VIs. The likeness was good enough, but the body was a little wrong – too tall and thin – and the voice couldn't compare to the real thing.

"I'm Commander Shepard and you're my _favourite_ person on the Citadel," the VI said in what was probably supposed to be a sultry voice.

"She sounds fucking _ridiculous_," Jena quipped, still with a smile in her voice, "who the hell programmed this thing?"

Vega chuckled, "Dunno, but check it out, if I press this one I can make her _dance_."

She laughed despite herself and leaned back onto the crates behind as the VI jerked into action with stiff, awkward movements that looked like they'd been inspired by a drunk uncle at a wedding. I'd _seen_ her dance, and this VI was painful to watch compared to that.

"Can it at least shoot straight?" I asked, and regretted it at once as she looked up, her face tensing as we locked eyes and the laughter trailed off in her throat. It was like a spell had broken as soon as I'd appeared, and suddenly she looked almost guilty.

"Don't know," she shrugged, standing up straight, "I should get back to work, you guys keep playing with it if you want."

Vega glanced between the two of us and understanding dawned. "Ah, c'mon, Lola, it's no fun without you." It was a good last ditch effort, but the moment had passed and with a disappointed groan he shut down the VI as she moved over to the weapons bench by Cortez.

Tearing my eyes away from her, I walked past Vega to the larger bench on the other side of the hanger where my hardsuit was laid out, and I started unpacking the replacement parts from the package I'd picked up. I dismantled the bits of my armour that had been too damaged to fix in the last mission, and started to wonder if what was broken between Shepard and I was something that could ever be fixed. James wandered over a moment later and leaned back against the wall with a sigh.

"Almost worked," he said hopefully.

"What, getting her to relax?" I asked wryly, glancing up, "Sorry I killed the moment." I _was_ sorry. I thought I might resent the fact that she seemed to enjoy spending time with him far more than with me, but if he could make her laugh and forget about the world for a few moments, then I was content to let it happen.

"Nah, s'not your fault, Major," James replied, shrugging his huge shoulders, "it's this goddamn war. No one's getting much downtime these days."

I followed his gaze to where Jena was leaning back to show a crewmember something on the bench. She picked up the gun he held, did some complicated movement with the mechanism at the side, gave a half-smirk as it slid into place, and handed it back.

"Heard you managed to drag her out to Purgatory, at least," I said, turning back to my armour and remembering the snaps I'd seen popping up all over the extranet of Commander Shepard and a handful of Privates in a club that, according to Avina, didn't even exist.

"Yeah, for a little while. Got her to mix with us mortals for a bit, bought every Alliance soldier there a drink, did a few sound-offs, made 'em all love her to pieces. She was trying, y'know? Trying to act all normal, like she was just a grunt like them, but then we realise she's gone over to have a casual chat with _Aria fucking T'loak_. Wasn't much convincing 'em that she was just a regular gal after that." He breathed a laugh, folding his arms and shaking his head in disbelief.

"Shepard's never been afraid of other people," I said, fondly remembering how she'd happily march up to the most important official she could find and _demand_ that they do what she said. And most of the time they'd do it, too. No one wanted to disappoint her. "I don't think there's a person alive that could intimidate her."

"So she's always been like that, huh?"

"Pretty much," I shrugged, leaning in closer to the fine machinery holding my armour's collar in place and bringing the lamp further down as I unscrewed a few vital parts.

"Was she ever…y'know, _friendlier_?"

"Friendlier," I deadpanned, glancing up at him as I tried to work out where all this sudden interest had come from.

"Yeah, _friendlier_. I get that she's got this whole cold, ruthless martyr thing going on now, but…it don't fit her right."

No, I thought, it _didn't_ fit her right. I'd seen her at her friendliest, practically giggling, making stupid jokes and acting like she had no worries in the world. I'd seen her just rousing from sleep, the way she'd pull me closer without even realising it. I'd seen her striding around her apartment in nothing but a pair of tiny shorts as she looked for something, all the while giving me a cutting point-by-point explanation of why the vid we'd watched the night before didn't make any sense. _That_ fit her. _That_ was the woman I missed more than anything. The woman that commanded the Normandy now was a shell of her former self, held up by nothing but grim determination and this constant, never-ending fight for survival.

"I just…" he let out a breath as though he didn't know how to phrase it, "I figure things are more stressful now than they were before. Not much time to forget it all, no way to be off the clock. Hell, I guarded her for two months and I still don't feel like I know the first thing about her 'cause she spent the whole time just _glaring_ at everything."

"Things were…easier back then," I said carefully, "Like you said, it's easier to forget about your day job when there isn't a war all around that you're supposed to win single-handedly. Back then, you could take a step back when you needed to, reassess things, even _relax_ now and again. Now, there's just…no time. And even when there _is_ time she's always got too much on her mind. Can't relax when everyone's counting on you to save the world."

"Yeah, no kidding," he sniffed, "I mean I guess it's cool in a way – means I know I'm earning my place here 'cause there sure as hell ain't room on this ship for amateurs, but _damn _does she know how to make you feel three inches tall when you fuck up."

I smirked, checking over the work I'd finished on my shoulder guard before moving on to the other one.

"She was always like _that_ too, but it's nothing personal. If you're on the Normandy then you deserve to be here – all the shit she throws at you is just so you can get as good as she is."

"Think that's possible?"

I chuckled dryly, "_No_. Shepard's one of a kind, but I don't think she gets that. She expects people to be able to keep up with her, and when they can't, well...she's always had a short fuse. The war just makes it worse. Stakes have never been higher than they are right now. She doesn't get stressed about missions, but...this is beyond anything _anyone's_ ever done."

"But she's different with you, though, right?" I glanced up and realised he was staring right at me with a sharp, cagey look in his eyes, like he knew far more than he was letting on, and I suddenly remembered that he'd been hand-picked by Anderson for a _reason_. "I mean with you she ain't angry, not _really_. She's just...kind of sad."

There was something in the way he said it that hit me right at my core and twisted me up with shame and regret. I felt an icy cold prickle work its way up my throat and did my best to look casual as I focused back on my work.

"I, uh...I think it's because I remind her of when this whole thing started," I lied, "You know, the beacon on Eden Prime, Virmire, _Ilos_, all the people we lost back then." I stared at my armour as though it were the most interesting thing I'd ever seen.

"Right, right..." there was a smirk in his voice that told me he didn't believe a single damn word I said, "'cause y'know, I kind of figured it had more to do with the fact that you guys still got it _bad_ for each other." I snapped my head up to see him still looking at me smugly, like a cat that had just trapped its dinner, and I realised in that tiny movement I'd given myself away.

_Shit_.

I tried throwing him a confused, speechless expression, like I had no idea what he was talking about, but he wasn't buying it.

"And I don't mean the way _everyone_ on the Normandy is just a little in love with Commander Shepard," he clarified, just to hammer it home, "Like you said, we _all_ want to get on her good side. But with you guys it's different. There's something else, and it's been there for a while. I'm right, aren't I?"

"What makes you say that?" I asked with exaggerated nonchalance, dusting off my hands.

"_Because_, Major," he said simply, "every time you ain't looking at _her_ she's makin' eyes right back at _you_."

I couldn't help myself. I turned back quickly to where she'd been before, just in time to see her look away, up to the side, ignoring me as she so often did. But in that split second when our eyes had locked, there was sadness buried right under the surface, and I started to wonder if the way she acted around me was _more_ than just simple resentment. I looked down, lips parting as I thought of all the times she'd scowled at me, a frantic, fraying edge to her anger that could have been something else entirely. Could it be that I'd just _missed_ it? All this time? Could she still be the same woman I left to die three years ago? Underneath it all, could she still...?

It seemed almost too good to be true.

My legs were suddenly unsteady, and I leaned back against the workbench for support. James moved up to stand next to me, both of us just watching her as she poured far more focus than was necessary into tuning up her gun.

"Now ain't the time to toe the line, Major," James said quietly, seriously, "If you think you can fix whatever's there – and don't tell me it don't need fixing, because _something's_ wrong – then _do_ it."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked him, shaking my head in disbelief, "You barely know me."

"_Yeah_," he tilted his head to one side casually, "but you seem like a good guy, and Lola's done me enough favours – figured I'd do her one in return. She deserves a break. Give her something that isn't more of this goddamn _war_."

I watched Jena work, and the thought settled over me like a warm blanket – I'd started falling for her from the moment I saw her, and time, distance, harsh words and bitter memories had done nothing to change that. She was still the one that filled the space in my chest, still the one I wanted more than _anything. _Hell, that was the only thing that _hadn't_ changed in the years we'd been apart. There was no denying it this time, no chalking it up to the idea that I just _missed_ her. No. It was real, it was right there in front of me. _She_ was right in front of me.

I loved her, I'd always loved her, but I'd fucked it all up and now she had closed herself off. It was like she was telling me with her coldness that I'd had my chance and I'd blown it. So I'd been patient, I'd waited for her to come around, but James was right. She'd never fix it herself – if I wanted it then _I'd_ have to fix it.

I thought of Rahna. The girl that had pushed me away and that I'd let go because I'd _terrified_ myself with what I was capable of. I'd revelled in my own pain like a melodramatic teenager, I'd told myself that was how it _had _to be. I'd let her go a long time ago. I'd tried to let Jena go too, but...I couldn't. Not then, not now, not _ever_. I watched her now as James walked to the elevator, his work apparently done, and I did it without feeling like I had no right, like it was wrong of me to still want her back.

She looked up at me suddenly, apparently startled to see me staring back, and I smiled at her unselfconsciously. This time, she didn't scowl, she didn't pretend not to see me – instead the corners of her lips curved up in a small, confused little smile that actually went all the way to her eyes. It was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in far, far too long. A moment of peace.

The moment ended with Cortez tapping her on the shoulder so she could look over a datapad, but I kept my eyes on her, drinking in that image as I told myself that no, this _wasn't_ the time to toe the line. This wasn't the time to pretend it was over between us, not _now_ when the galaxy was burning. I was sick of waiting. I was sick of acting like I hadn't been in love with her all these years.

If I died in this war – if _both_ of us died – I wanted to die knowing for _sure_.

**Chapter 25: Shatters** – Shepard feels utterly overwhelmed with the task placed on her shoulders, and Kaidan finds her in a moment of weakness.


	25. Shatters

**A.N.** Hello, lovely readers! Thanks for sticking with me this far. I just wanted to say that I read and appreciate every one of your reviews, and they really do spur me on to keep writing, so thanks!

This chapter was a little late because I've been having some trouble putting together this next part of the story and making it feel authentic to me, as I haven't written as far ahead as I like to normally and very little free time combined with massive writers block doesn't make for a very happy fanficcer. So the next few chapters won't be as polished as I'd like and will probably be edited again in the future, but seeing as I have a habit of not finishing stories (ever!) because of obsessive insecurity and laziness, I figure it's better to get it DONE and worry about my own stupid standards later.

Enjoy!**  
**

**Chapter 25: Shatters**

_The first job he sends me on, I almost choke. It isn't that I can't handle it – I know I can, I've killed before, it's never been difficult – it's that I know this is the point of no return. Once I do this, once I make my mark in this way, there is no going back._

_My life has never been normal. Late at night when other children slept I would lie awake listening to them fight, my mother's shrill, harpy-like screams and the answering yells of whichever boyfriend of hers was still around. Sometimes I'd hear something smash. They would never stay long. She was beautiful, but she was always a handful – paranoid and hysterical and, when it came down to it, just another lying junkie. Too much for most. You could never trust an addict. Not _really_. I was always the one to take care of her in the end, give her my love which she never understood how to return. It had made me good at lying to teachers and doctors and police and anyone else who pried too deeply._

_Later, when I decided that enough was enough, I'd find myself lying again and again, just to get by. Yes, of course I have a home, I'm going there now. No, nothing's wrong, I don't need your help. No, I didn't see who took your wallet. No, I've never touched a gun in my life._

_This job, today, is based on another lie, one we have all been working on for a while. The lie is that I am Lily Calvern, the fourteen-year-old daughter of the man _almost_ at the head of the gang that owns the northern half of this filthy, sprawling city. The lie is that I am harmless, that I do not know I have made myself an easy target, or that the mob which owns the southern half plans to have me abducted, questioned and used as a bargaining chip to threaten and extort the man they believe to be my father. We have been convincing them of all this for several months now, constructing a careful fiction where we appear far, far more vulnerable than we are. Today is the moment of truth. The test to see if I am as good an asset as the Reds hope I am._

_I pretend not to see the men following me as I take a deserted shortcut to the place that became my home three years ago. When they grab me I realise that they are _strong_, and for that moment I don't have to pretend that I am scared. But it all goes to plan. I play my part admirably. They underestimate me – everyone always does – and soon I am left alone with the man I am supposed to kill while he waits for me to stop crying huge, gulping sobs so he can ask me questions and pretend that he won't hurt me if I answer. The bawling comes easily, and the noise covers the sound of my fingers working a pick in the axis of my cuffs, locked behind my chair._

_Suddenly, I catch my face in the mirror behind him as I look up. Then I see myself reflected in his eyes – a small, innocent girl, just his type – and in that moment I am struck by something._

_I am so used to the lie that I often forget the truth. I am a fourteen-year-old girl. I have killed before and now I am planning on killing again. He won't expect it because my wiry muscles are hidden by my school uniform along with my budding breasts, and my friend Mira has done my dark hair in pigtails and no one expects a child to have the mental and physical capacity to kill like I can._

_So why _am_ I this way? Why does it come so naturally to me when it is so revolting, so horrifically unnatural to everyone else? Other girls my age are busy discovering boys and their own bodies and deciding who they will be, but who I am, I feel, has already been decided. I am not sure I like who that is, even though she is strong and I have already learned well that strength means safety._

_If I kill this man, then that is it. I will be a hired killer, a child soldier, a heartless assassin. Was it ever a choice I made, I wonder, or just the best of a bad set of options? He thinks I have calmed down because my face has gone blank. He talks to me in a soothing voice, saying words I do not hear because all I can do is stare at him and wonder _why_ I am going to kill him. I wonder if it is a real choice, a _free _choice, or if I am just going along with the tide._

_I have been lying for so long, just to get by. And now I wonder what the truth is. I wonder what I would do if I had all the choices in the world laid out in front of me. I don't think I would pick this one. I think that, however much I thrived on conflict, in the end I would still choose peace, a thing I have never known. I would walk away from it all, if I only had a chance. But no one has ever asked. And I have never tried._

_Maybe, I think, looking up at him, I won't kill this man. I don't _have _to, surely? Maybe I'll run away again. Maybe I'll ask for help. Girls my age were supposed to ask for help. Maybe there was a new life waiting for me out there, somewhere. A better life._

_Fuck this job._

_He reaches up, brushes a hand over my hair in a gesture that is supposed to appear soothing but there is something vile in his eyes, and sudden adrenaline spikes through my young body._

_Before I know what I am doing, my hand shoots up from behind the chair, lightning fast, I pull his arm back, kick the shoulder joint hard as I can, hear it crack, muffle his scream with a head butt that leaves my skull throbbing even as I shove my fist into his throat, cuffs held like a knuckle duster. I need no guns to kill him. I boot him onto the floor as he scrambles for his pistol, choking on his own crushed windpipe. I'd spotted the letter opener as soon as he'd pulled the bag from my head in this opulent office. It twirls in my palm before I grip it hard and drive the sharp end into his throat. It takes seventeen seconds for him to stop gasping for air, and by then his soldiers are pounding on the door I've locked even as I upload the programme onto his console that will kill any alarms and download the information we need. There is blood on my hands, and splattered on the white shirt of my uniform. I notice, dimly, that it doesn't bother me._

_I look at what I'd done, at the life I'd ended like it was nothing. He wasn't the first, and as I picked up his gun, screwed on a silencer and hid myself in the room before the doors burst open, I knew that he was far from the last. Training kicks in, my skill overrides theirs, and once again they underestimate me – no one wants to hit a fourteen-year-old girl, but hesitating is the last mistake any of them will ever make._

_I stand there, surrounded by the lives I have taken. I am a killer, I think to myself, and a damn good killer too. Calvern will be pleased. This is my future now. This is how it will be._

_Peace, I realise, will never be an option. I will never, ever escape this life._

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

Times like this, I just wanted to run and run and _run_.

I put up a good front, I thought. Granted, even _I_ knew I was cracking around the edges, but I'd convinced myself that I'd last long enough to see this whole thing through. I'd hold together long enough to finish this mission, to gather my army, and to take back Earth, do what I was _supposed _to. I was doing a good job at faking it. The confidence that came with command _had_ to be fake, because if it was real it meant you were too damn proud to catch your own mistakes, and I caught _every_ one of mine.

At times like this, though, I wasn't even sure I _could_ fake it. Not when it was so, so clear that I had no idea what I was doing – just groping in the dark, fighting against an impossible, unstoppable tide as though I could make any real difference. When I remembered that, all my victories up until now suddenly felt meaningless.

My ears were ringing again, a barely audible buzzing that began at the base of my skull and throbbed all the way up to the follicles of my hair. Not enough sleep.

Kaidan was starting to notice, I realised, and he'd give me these looks, these half-scolding glances that said he _knew_ what I was doing but didn't know how to stop it. He only knew because I'd become worse at hiding it. Worse at pretending I knew exactly what I was doing _all the time_, that my motivation was rock solid and that I was fully in control of my own destiny.

Javik was different, though. There was a reason the Protheans had ruled a galaxy-wide empire. He could read everything about me – my history, my thoughts, my insecurities – all in one simple touch, a total violation of the wall of privacy and invulnerability I'd built up after so long. I could hide nothing from him, and he was utterly _merciless_ with the information sucked from my head.

I stood outside the room he'd claimed, sweating and panting and _shaken_ to my core. I felt outside of myself, like I wasn't even _real_. I wanted to run, I wanted to _fly_ somewhere far away, but I was in a metal box hurtling through black, empty space to the next mission, and there was nowhere I could go. No escape from this life I'd built.

I didn't even know why I'd spoken to him. I'd wanted a little perspective from people that had faced the Reapers already, maybe see if we could avoid some of their mistakes, and I'd asked him if he honestly thought we had a chance in hell. He'd looked at me, his infinitely strange pupils dilating, the unfamiliar planes and ridges of his face still fascinating to me as they shifted into an expression I couldn't decipher. And then, without a word, he'd reached up and pressed a long finger to the centre of my forehead.

It'd felt like the beacon all over again, or like Liara invading my mind and prying the information loose. When he'd touched me on Eden Prime it had been different, more _general_, picking up on elements like language and culture, things I knew without knowing _how_, but on the Normandy it was like he was reaching into the deepest, darkest, locked-away recesses of who I was and _why_. I tried to ride the wave of pain, tried to control the overriding instinct to _shut him out_ because I knew it would only make it worse. In seconds it was over, but in my head it had taken much longer, and I was left feeling as though my entire life had flashed in front of my eyes.

It hadn't been pretty. Now, looking back at my life, all I felt was deeply ashamed that I'd cared so little for the girl I'd been. That I'd thought nothing of putting her through more pain and throwing her into hell because at the time I'd thought I could handle it. I'd grown into a skilled, powerful woman since then, but now I was starting to see my own limitations on the horizon, looming large and ever closer.

'_This cycle has a chance,_' he'd said cryptically, _'but only because it is led by _you_.'_

I'd asked him what the hell that was supposed to mean, and I saw the frustrated way he curled his lips back, the expression he saved for when he was lowering himself to communicate overly complex ideas to the primitive species of this new galaxy.

'_Whether you think so or not, Commander, you _are_ exceptional. There is something within you which I cannot describe using this language. You are…an _avatar_ of your people. A symbol. An idea. Yet you are living. Part of you knows this already, this side of you that has always been different, but you do not believe it. You are a paragon. An embodiment of the human spirit. There are legends of such people in your own history. Ancient heroes. You are just one more – an exceptional woman born into a world that has need of you.'_

I'd stood there, stunned, confused, and told him with an uneasy voice that heroes were supposed to be _good_. And I had done horrible, horrible things. I'd killed hundreds of thousands, some because I had to, but some were just for the hell of it. Heroes, I thought, were people like Kaidan. People who believed all the shit they said and actually _followed through_ with it instead of faking their way through life like I had. If there was an afterlife, I thought, and I _did _end up being judged, having my deeds weighed up in front of me on a set of celestial scales, the bad would outweigh the good tenfold. The only good I'd done in my life had been for my own selfish reasons. And the bad…that was mostly just because I _could_.

He'd told me that, as usual, I was missing the point entirely.

'_That is not what makes you the way you are. You are an avatar of the human spirit because you embody the greatest qualities of your species – endurance, determination, a will to succeed in the face of overwhelming adversity. I have looked into your past, and I have seen the very worst of human nature – as well as the nature of others – and I have seen you overcome it all. You have done nothing but grow stronger in the face of that. You have thrived when anyone else would have failed utterly, not because of luck but because it is _you_ and you _must_. You know this. You witnessed the extinction of an entire people when you touched the beacon on Eden Prime. The very fabric of your being was forever marked that day. And that is why it is _you_ who must win this war, because you are the only one who _truly_ understands what will happen should you fail. Through your actions you have become not just the avatar of your species, but the avatar of this entire cycle. The only hope for its continued existence. Never forget that.'_

At that moment I'd frozen, held in place with the overwhelming gravity of what he'd just said. Mordin's last words came to me then, cool and clear as though I only just now understood them.

_It has to be me_, I thought, shaking, _someone else will only get it wrong. It has to be me_.

I felt like a sacrificial lamb, led into the fire for the good of the many. I told Javik that I'd always known that, because in some way I always had. No one else could do the things that I could do. I'd always been different.

But _no_, I thought as I stood outside his door, my heart racing. That can't have been right. I didn't believe in that kind of thing, that whole idea that the universe had some kind of order or that things happened for reasons beyond just '_because'_. Sometimes, at my weakest, I'd convince myself that if I just hurt and struggled and fought enough, there would be a reward at the end of it all, but I knew that was just a comforting lie. I knew that when it came down to it I was just on my own, just another insignificant little creature struggling to survive against all odds. Javik's people had a culture that was very, very different to ours, and they interpreted the same things in wildly different ways. To Javik, the avatar of vengeance and the last hope of a dead civilization, I may have been something special, someone with a purpose or even a 'destiny' that had been decided from birth. But in reality I was just another human spat out of a great, sprawling metropolis who'd been given more than her fair share of second chances. Right?

It was just luck. And skill.

Wasn't it?

I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead to the cool glass that overlooked the hangar bay, feeling my hands shake ever so slightly.

_You have thrived when _anyone else_ would have failed utterly_.

Nausea rose up within me. In my mind, I'd always survived and thrived because I was better than everyone else. Even in the face of overwhelming odds, I refused to give up and I succeeded because I _deserved_ it. But now I was starting to wonder if it was something else. In a way, I'd always known I was different. I'd always known that, when it came down to it…it always had to be me.

I'd never been allowed to have a normal life. I'd never been allowed peace or joy or the things that others took for granted. I'd always been a tool, a weapon, something that meant other people could get on with the daily business of living. That was why it made sense that I should be the one in charge of all this. That was why I couldn't give up. Not now, not ever, because no one else could do what I could do. Anyone else would just get it wrong, even though I had no idea how to get it _right_.

Part of me had always known that was the way of things. And in Javik's words, spoken with the assurance of someone who couldn't _conceive_ of being wrong, I heard the answering cry from the rest of the galaxy, from civilizations past and present, that said _yes, it has to be you that ends this, we're counting on you to win this for all of us._

I heard the words humming in my ears, like white noise blocking out the sounds of my ship. Cold sweat bristled over my body.

I opened my eyes and looked down at the hangar bay, at James and Cortez chatting away to each other. I watched two crew members carrying a crate across the room, and one broke into a laugh as the other finished telling some joke. They were all counting on me too. They were all expecting me to pull a solution out of thin air, just as I'd always done before. I wasn't like them.

My fingers splayed against the glass, and suddenly I just felt so, so tired. I wanted to be weak, just like everyone else. Just for a few days on a beach somewhere, that holiday I told myself I'd take eventually which I'd never get around to now. Hell, even a few hours on my own would be enough, some time to myself where I could guiltlessly watch some stupid, soppy vid with a cup of something hot and sweet, maybe even paint my nails and cry excessively. That was what women my age were supposed to do, I was told. Even battle-hardened commandos got tired of being invincible sometimes.

I wanted someone to wrap their arms around me and tell me it was all going to be okay. I wanted to allow myself a few brief seconds to actually _believe_ them, just for a little while, and find comfort.

I just wanted to not wake up in the middle of the night by ghosts in my dreams asking why with all my strength and speed I hadn't been strong and fast enough to save them. I just wanted to _sleep_.

But I had to be strong. All the time. I had to never falter, never fail, always be able to take in what was happening around me, harden my expression, and move on so that everyone else could do the same. I had to pretend I wasn't affected, be the calm in the centre of the storm, the axis around which this whole war effort turned. Because I was Commander Shepard, the first human Spectre, the first woman to make it to N7, the greatest Commando alive, an unstoppable, raging, legendary juggernaut of destruction, a beacon of hope in the darkness, an _avatar_ of my race and this cycle.

And if it got out that I was absolutely fucking _terrified_ that all of this was for nothing and the Crucible was a last-ditch effort doomed to fail and we were all just insects struggling against a relentless hurricane…well, that would be bad for morale, now, wouldn't it?

My hand fell from the window because I didn't have the strength to keep it there. I looked at the door at the other side of the hallway where Zaeed used to sleep under a canopy of weapons, but Diana Allers had taken that space up for herself and there was no way in hell I felt like having a 'friendly chat'. Engineering was full too, even the lower deck had someone working, using up the valuable downtime while we travelled across the galaxy to meet the quarian flotilla.

I thought of going to talk to James, but I wasn't in the mood to be forcibly cheered up. I could find Garrus, but with Palaven he had enough to worry about. Liara too, now that Thessia was feeling the heat. Feeling slightly outside of myself and with no real thoughts on where I was going or why, I entered the elevator and pressed the button for the next floor up.

I'd been trying not to think about it since my own stupid mind had set me down this self-indulgently dark path, but I knew exactly what I needed, and he was somewhere on this very ship.

There had always been something about Kaidan that put me at ease, even back before I really knew him. It wasn't the obvious thing, no, though that had helped _a lot_ before Ilos. It was different. He had a _way_ about him, something indefinable, a sincerity that meant he could be sympathetic without being patronising. He could look at the craziest situation imaginable – Saren, Sovereign, _the entire galaxy being invaded by an army of unstoppable sentient machines_ – and agree with you that yes, it _was_ crazy, and yes, he _did_ understand just how insane it was that _anyone_ could be asked to remain calm and strong in the face of such overwhelming adversity, but…here we were. It was always a _we_. Like it hadn't even occurred to him that he could leave you to deal with it on your own.

That's the thing, when you're the best. People try to work with you, be allies, but they would never understand - they'd always be standing _behind_ you when it really came down to it. I had people on this ship that I trusted with my life, who I knew would never let me down, but they didn't understand what it was like to fill my shoes. Not _really_. Kaidan was different. He would stand there, right beside you, and tell you without a trace of irony that he was ready for whatever happened. Always. Until the end. And I would _believe him_. That was what made him different. He was the only one that had ever made me really _believe_ that I wasn't just on my own, or that I was more than the weapon, the empty shell of a person that so many others had treated me as. For a few perfect moments before Ilos, my world had stood still, and I really, truly believed that everything would be okay. And it was. I'd found peace.

_Fuck_. I missed him so, so much. I saw him every day now, every single fucking day, but it wasn't the same. There was a cloud hanging over us now, filled with all that had happened since the first time we were together, and every time I saw him it was hammered home again and again that it would _never_ be the same. And every time I remembered _that_ I realised, right down to my core, how much I just wanted things to _be_ just as they were.

I wanted to push all the resentment aside and just tell him that. The words would line up on my tongue as I saw him, but I'd never be able to get them out. It was always the wrong place, the wrong time, the stupid brain in my _stupid _head that wouldn't let me talk because the very _idea_ of explaining to him everything that I felt when I saw him standing there sent adrenaline and fear shooting through me as though I were stepping out in front of a firing squad, naked and unarmed.

The doors opened in front of me, and I found that my feet had carried me to the starboard observation deck, a large, empty room that looked out onto the blackness of space as we flew by. This was where I'd always come before, in the early days of the SR-2 when I'd needed to clear my head. I'd sit down, I'd breathe, I'd _try_ to meditate – Samara would help – and I'd get up feeling grounded and sane and ready for anything. I walked up to the window until all I could see was the distant stars trailing off into nothingness as we flew by, and sat down as I tried to remember how she'd told me I was supposed to flex my diaphragm. I sucked in a long stream of air through my nose, counted as I held it in, and let it flow out through my lips. All it did was leave me feeling light-headed. I tried again. The calm didn't come. In the stars I didn't see peace, just my own insignificance, the tiny portion of space and time that my life took up in the grand scheme of things, and all that I was meant to accomplish in that blip on the cosmic calendar.

I felt my hands shake as they lay limply on my knees. How was one person supposed to do all of this alone and not break into pieces?

The door opened behind me, and before I knew it I was scrambling to my feet, forcing my face into a neutral expression as I turned to see who it was. Of course it would be him, I thought as I watched Kaidan's lips fall open in surprise. Of course he'd find me when I was at my lowest, whether he'd meant to or not. He had a knack for only ever seeing me at my worst.

"Sorry," he said at once, stopping in his tracks, his face drawing together in concern as he took in the sight of me, "didn't mean to disturb you. I, uh, didn't think anyone else came in here."

"It's okay," I heard myself say, the thought of being alone with my erratic thoughts even scarier than the thought of being alone with _him_, "I was just…looking. Nothing important."

He walked into the room slowly, coming up beside me with his arms folded as he looked out of the huge window, a faint smile crossing his face. "It's one hell of a view, I'll give you that. Was it like this before the retrofit?"

I nodded, "This room's almost exactly the same. Guess they didn't want to fix what wasn't broken. I used to come here sometimes. We had an asari Justicar on board, she'd spend all her time in here meditating," I didn't know why I was still talking, telling him all of this, but I couldn't seem to stop, "I used to do it with her when I found the time, but…it's harder now."

"To find the time or to clear your head?" He glanced over at me, his voice curious and wary as though he expected me to lie. Not now, I thought. I was sick of lying all the time.

I shrugged, "Both. She used to make this…this _thing_ with her biotics. Looked like those old pictures of atoms, with little bits moving around the outside. She said it helped her concentrate on nothing, and I just used to find it fascinating. I could watch it for ages, not think about everything else. It helped."

"You mean like this?" He brought his hands together and moved them apart as though kneading dough. In the space between them was a flawless, sapphire singularity. A centre of pure dark energy surrounded by swirling blue fire held in orbit by Kaidan's perfect control. I found myself staring right into the heart of his creation, marvelling at its beauty, at the way so much strength and force was channelled into something so small between the palms of his hands. It was different to Samara's – his was slower, darker, just like him. If it had a sound, hers would be twinkling bells and the whistle of the wind, and his would be the deep, rich bass of a bow on strings. The tension eased from my body as I saw how the skin of his marked and scarred hands glowed with reflected light.

Looking up, I found my eyes locking with his, their deep brown depths pulling me in. He was staring straight at me, a small, compassionate smile on his face which was lit up with biotic fire, electric blue dancing in his irises.

"Yeah," I said hoarsely, my heart hammering in my chest even though there were no other thoughts passing through my mind, "just like that."

I thought of yesterday, of the way he'd looked at me in the hangar bay, that little smile crossing his face, just how he used to look at me before everything went…_wrong_. I wondered if he'd figured out who Luca was. I wondered if he'd cared.

For a long, charged moment, I simply let myself look at him, and the beauty of his biotics dancing like sea creatures just underneath. His soft, kind eyes seemed to be telling me to just _give in_, to trust him with all the hellish things inside my head, to trust that he'd _understand_ and even if he couldn't kiss me until it went away, he could at least give me some perspective, some _sanity_.

I felt something warm surround my hands, and he broke eye contact for just a second to glance down. I did the same, and realised with a jolt of surprise that I'd brought my hands up and slid them between his so the both of us were holding this thing he'd created. I pulled away as though I'd been burned, stepping back with my hands shaking and watched as the singularity fizzled away to nothing. Hurt flashed in his eyes, and I didn't know why. I cursed myself for letting my defences drop so much. _Again_.

I'd never been like this before. Not since becoming an N7. I didn't know what was happening to me, or how to stop it.

A few days ago, I'd been looking through some files for a mission at a fighter base and I'd gone to find James to ask him a question. I'd thought he'd be in the hangar where he usually was, in the makeshift gym him and some others had rigged together out of unused equipment, but when I'd rounded the corner he hadn't been the one I'd heard grunting with effort. Instead I'd seen a slimmer man with wide, well-defined shoulders lifting weights with each hand that I'd have trouble lifting with both. I'd seen an intimately familiar patchwork of scars and freckles crossing the skin on his back, and I'd known before he even turned around that it was Kaidan. He'd caught me off-guard then, too. For a single, stupid, mindless moment I'd forgotten all there was between us and I was just a sex-starved woman confronted with a man I'd never stopped being unreasonably attracted to. I looked up at him now, and it was like he couldn't understand why I was so wary, why I couldn't just let my guard down again. After all, we were supposed to be _friends_ now, right?

"What's wrong?" he asked, furrowing his brow as I folded my arms and looked back out at the stars.

"Nothing," I shrugged, swallowing the lump in my throat, "I just don't feel like looking at shiny things and spacing out right now, that's all."

"Maybe you _should_ space out once in a while," he replied, looking out onto space, the stubble along his jawline very distracting as I stared resolutely out the window, "taking a little time for yourself won't make everything fall apart."

"You don't know that," I said quietly.

"No, I don't," he agreed in a voice that sounded altogether too serious for my liking, "but I _do_ know that on Mars, when I thought I was going to die, all I could think about was how I hadn't taken enough time in my life to just sit back and take it all in. I haven't taken enough time for myself – and I _know_ you haven't either. I've seen the entire galaxy, done things most people could never even dream of, but at the end of it all, looking back, my biggest regret was not taking enough time to be with the people I cared about. Moments like this. It's the little things that make the rest of it worthwhile."

I opened my mouth to tell him that was a load of sentimental crap, but I realised with a prickle of heat along my skin that in my last moments, when I clawed at my suit and felt the air forced from my body, my biggest regret was that I'd never get to see how things with him would work out. That we'd never get to pick up where we left off and figure out exactly what it _was_ that had existed between the two of us. I glanced over to him now, and realised that it was _still_ my biggest regret, only now I had the time to fix it, but I just…_couldn't_.

"What, being a Spectre isn't enough for you?" I quipped instead, trying to roll my eyes but finding that the muscles were busy stopping my face from creasing in sadness.

He chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that trailed off as I felt him glance over to me, "I guess not."

It wasn't enough for me either. It wasn't just that I always wanted _more_ – bigger challenges, shinier medals, more and more people in awe of what I could do – it was that however hard I tried I couldn't find satisfaction in being a soldier. Not total satisfaction anyway. There had only been one time when I'd looked at my life, at everything that I had, and thought that things were, all in all, pretty damn good. And I couldn't tell Kaidan that, because he'd ask when it was, and I'd have to make something up so he didn't know it was in my apartment, between missions, with an injury as a good excuse to keep out of combat, good food in the fridge and the kindest, strongest, most beautiful man I'd ever met in my bed.

It was the last time I'd been at peace with who I was and what I'd done. It was the last time I'd felt truly human.

I felt my hands shake even as I dug my nails into my arms as subtly as possible. I didn't know why I couldn't just tell him. I didn't know why I had to torture myself like this. There was ringing in my ears.

"How are you doing, anyway?" he asked suddenly, and I realised he'd been looking at me the whole time. The ringing was gone, replaced by the sound of his voice and the total silence that followed as he waited for an answer that I didn't think I could give.

I shrugged, staring back at the outside world.

"Fine," I lied, "My wrist's healed well after the last mission. I'll be ready to go by the time we reach the Far Rim."

"That's not what I asked," he said gently, pushing for something real.

The words 'I'm_ fine_' were shaped by my mouth again but I knew they would be a lie, and I had a feeling he would know it too. He was someone who asked because he genuinely wanted to know, not because he just wanted me to encourage him with how reassuringly indestructible I was. But what else could I say? Could I tell him that for a long time I hadn't felt like _myself_? Could I tell him I had no idea why I was still fighting or why I'd even begun, that I felt as lost as I had as a child? Could I say that I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold myself together for the sake of everyone else?

"_Jena_," he called, as if snapping me out of a trance. I looked up at him and saw nothing but honest sympathy in his eyes. "You can tell me. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm not…" he sighed, his brows drawing together as though he couldn't think how to word what was in his head, "I'm not one of these people who thinks you can do this without a scratch on you, against all odds. I mean hell, you _amaze_ me, you always have, but I know you're human, just like me. And I know that _I_ couldn't do this without it tearing me up inside."

"It's not like I can just wake up one morning and decide I feel too shitty to go on the next mission," I replied, meaning it to sound flippant, dismissive, but there was a tremor in my voice.

"Maybe not," he gave a small shrug and stepped towards me until he was so close I could smell him, "but that doesn't mean you have to pretend you don't _feel_ like doing just that sometimes. Not to me, anyway. I just…whatever else you think about me, I hope you know _that_."

I wanted to break down. I wanted to fall to my knees and bury my head in my hands and just _weep_ and it was stupid because this mission was so far from over and I had so much left to do. I was so tired. I was tired of this mission, of the Reapers, the death tolls, the burning colonies, the endless reports, the people _begging_ for help that would never come. I was tired of the fact that I was the last hope for anyone in the galaxy but had no hope myself because all I wanted to do was forget about it all and let myself _die_, get the peace that I'd been denied the first time around. I wanted to tell him that the only reason I was pushing myself forward was because I was too damn stubborn to give up. I was so tired of pretending it was all okay.

"I…" I started, but my voice broke at once, and with it I felt my face crumple into total misery that I didn't have the strength to hide. Before I knew what was happening I felt myself being pulled closer to him, my cheek pressing against his chest as his arms circled around my back and drew me into an embrace. I realised I was holding my breath, tensing up instinctively, and I decided that now, just for one, fleeting moment, I'd just let myself—

The sigh flowed out of me along with every ounce of tension wound up in my body as I collapsed into his arms. I felt my hands move up his back to curve around his wide shoulders as I took another shaking breath, relishing the sharp, electric smell of him, so familiar, so _perfect_, the feel of him beneath my fingers, the fit of his arms around my body, moulding to my limbs tighter and tighter like we were made for each other. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, so hard I was sure he could feel it. I closed my eyes and pressed my head closer to the rise of his chest, drinking in every part of this feeling.

"I'm n-not…" I started unsteadily, my lips shaking, "I'm…"

"I know," he said quickly, the sound of his voice sending a shockwave through my body, "I know. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry you have to be the one to do this. I'm so sorry I haven't been there for you."

I could feel my fingers quivering against him as every beat of my heart thrummed adrenaline through my veins like I was in the middle of a fight for my life. I was frozen solid. I had no idea what to do, what to think, what to _feel_. Every instant I spent in the circle of his arms felt like I was falling deeper and deeper into a black hole I'd never be able to climb out of. Like feeling a drug work its way into your system and knowing you should pull out the needle but every moment you waste in _thinking _about it just makes it harder and harder to move.

He smelled perfect. My apartment was gone forever, but this, right here, was like coming home. I wanted to cry. I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually managed to cry.

His hand moved up my back, fingers curling over my neck. "I missed you so much," he murmured quickly, lips against my hair, "every day you were gone, I missed you like hell."

A wave crashed over me, an emotion that shook me to my core, the sudden realisation that _this _was not a dream and that whatever happened now would have consequences. Maybe he'd spent these past few weeks feeling just as wretched about the two of us as I had. I'd never felt like this about someone, I'd never thought it was _possible_ to feel like this, and the very idea that he could feel just a _fraction_ of what welled up inside me now was—

I opened my mouth to respond, but at once pure, naked fear shot through me like a blow to the gut. There were so many unknowns, so many question marks dancing around the future. I wanted to tell him I'd missed him too, that I'd missed _this_ more than anything, but all at once I thought of him walking away from me, accusing me of being a traitor, _rejecting_ all that I was. Adrenaline clamped down on my throat and I found myself tensing up, stepping back, his arms falling away and my body feeling cold and empty as he looked at me in confusion. What the hell was I _doing_?

Fresh panic washed over me as I stared back at him, wanting so much to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him but knowing deep down that I wouldn't, _couldn't_. I couldn't take it, I couldn't _deal_ with it, I couldn't let myself fall again just to have it blow up in my face like last time. I couldn't afford that kind of distraction, it would _break_ me in two. This right here was pure, unbridled comfort that I longed for, but it wasn't _safe_. I couldn't just use him like I'd done with others before, I couldn't just be _casual_, and the thought of someone else having that much power over me was just…it was—

"I…I can't," I said quickly, feeling myself shake with stupid, pointless self-sabotage, "I'm sorry."

I felt my feet carrying me backwards, towards the door, saw his face fall as he said my name to call me back, hurt and confusion and sorrow bright in his eyes, and I hated it, I _hated_ everything about this and all I wanted was to be back in his arms but I couldn't, I _couldn't_, I…

I turned and stopped myself from breaking out into a run as I reached the elevator. I forced myself to think of nothing, nothing at all until I got to my room, where the doors closed behind me and cut me off from the world. I leaned back, letting myself slide to the ground, put my head in my hands, my eyes dry and raw as I heaved with silent sobs, and wondered what the fuck I had just done.

Just breathe, I told myself. Just…_breathe_.

* * *

**Chapter 26: Awake** – Not wanting to let things lie, Kaidan comes to Shepard's cabin to force a confrontation.

The next chapter will hopefully be posted up pretty soon, because it was originally meant to go on the end of this one but it ended up being too long. So I didn't leave you with a cliffhanger (kind of...) on purpose! Promise!


	26. Awake

**A.N** - Really sorry this took so long! It wasn't supposed to but I've been away for a while and I couldn't get this chapter to work well enough for me to be happy with posting it. It's still far from perfect, but this whole story is a WIP so I'm posting it anyway and hoping no one notices ^^

**Chapter 26: Awake**

_Kaidan_

Outside her door, I got another stab of uncertainty when I asked myself, again, if I was doing the right thing or if I was just being too damn stubborn. I'd stood there in total confusion as she walked out of the observatory, panic bright in her eyes, and afterwards I couldn't understand why I'd let her go. I wondered if what rose up inside me then had been anything _close_ to what she'd felt back on Horizon. It sure as hell _hurt_ enough.

I warred with myself, between the idea that she had too much to deal with already and the _fact_ that I was still in love with her and that after seeing her today I was pretty damn sure she still felt something for me too. James had been right. She _was_ different with me, but it wasn't resentment, it wasn't mistrust, it was…fear. But not the fear I'd seen in Rahna's eyes as I looked at her over the body of the first man I'd ever killed, face streaked with blood from where he'd sliced at my lip. She'd been afraid of what I could _do_, and for a long time so was I, but with Jena it was different. In her I saw fear of the unknown, of letting herself open up again after what had happened between us last time. I couldn't understand why I hadn't figured it out sooner.

I was supposed to be the one who _understood_ this kind of thing, who could deal with his own emotions. I was supposed to be logical, mature, able to roll with the punches that her horrific upbringing made her throw in a blind panic. I'd spent all this time letting her down, but no longer. Even if she didn't want me, even if I _was_ totally wrong, I was sick of pretending I wasn't in love with her. Now wasn't the time to toe the line. Not when the world was ending all around us. At least this way I could lay it all on the table, take the blow of opening myself up to her, and let her decide for herself if she wanted me back.

And I'd do it _right_ this time. I'd show her how much I cared, how _much_ she meant to me. I'd invite her out somewhere, just like I would if she was anyone else, and I'd explain myself in full. I'd give her a real apology, and, in return, maybe she'd give me the truth.

Those things I'd murmured to her before weren't supposed to come out like that. I'd meant that moment of comfort to be about _her_ and only her, but the feel of her body in my arms, that _smell_ that wove through her hair as I breathed her in…it had all just taken my mind to a totally different place, a place where there was nothing but _that_ between us, where everything was perfect. It had been a mistake. I'd correct it now. I'd lay my cards on the table. I didn't care if she yelled at me, kicked me off the ship, just as long as she _knew_.

I rapped on the door, squaring my shoulders and taking a deep, cleansing breath as I heard soft footsteps approaching from the other side. When the doors swished open, that breath caught in my throat. Jena's dark hair danced about her face in wet, tangled locks, her cheeks and lips flushed red from the heat. A plain, black robe that was slightly too big was draped around her body and pulled tight at the waist. When I finally remembered to breathe, I tasted that rich, spiced vanilla scent on the tip of my tongue, and all I could see was the dangerous, dusky beauty that I'd fallen for years ago.

Her eyes widened ever so slightly as she saw me, tiny droplets of water still clinging to her lashes. But here, we were in _her_ territory, and she wasted no time in showing me exactly who was in charge. Her stance shifted, back straightening, head lifting as she jerked a single eyebrow up to silently ask what the hell I wanted because couldn't I see she was _busy_?

"Can I come in?" I asked after a while, seeing as her hard, disinterested face gave no indication that she'd invite me in any time soon.

Jena glanced off to one side with a exasperated sigh, "Sure," she stepped back, "I guess."

I moved past her, into the little office alcove they'd built as I took in the room around me. It was sparse and unfinished, still with exposed wiring hanging down from some areas, but it was all unmistakably hers. Dark clothes were strewn around the place, her bed unmade, datapads lay scattered on her desk, each with something new scrolling across the screen. The fish tank was still completely empty, the water glowing eerily in the low lights.

"I've actually been meaning to talk to you," she said, and when I turned to her in surprise I saw that she had her armour up, her face utterly neutral but in a way that seemed _forced_, and I felt my heart fall. Nothing about her indicated that anything _at all_ had happened between us just a few hours earlier, and somehow I doubted she was as keen as I was to get it all out in the open.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she echoed, folding her arms tight over her chest, the robe making her body seem smaller than I remembered. Suddenly she broke eye contact and looked away at the ground, as though doing her best to ignore that I was even there, "I think…" she swallowed, but I could still hear the lump in her throat, "I think you should take the position in the fleet. The one Hackett offered you."

"What?" I exclaimed, not expecting _that_ to come out of her mouth.

"You heard me," she snapped in response, her voice hard and allowing no compromise. I bit back my automatic reaction and forced down a calming breath as I stared straight back at her. This was Shepard asserting herself, taking the power back after her earlier display of vulnerability. I should have expected it, it was a classic move and transparent as hell. At one time I might have just gone along with it, let her decide what was best, but not _now_. I wouldn't let her throw me away, not after the way she'd almost broken down right in front of me just a few hours ago.

"Why?" I demanded, taking a step towards her to provoke an actual, honest reaction.

"You…" she glanced up at me, her eyes flashing with accusation and hurt, "you _know_ why." So that was all it was. She didn't like feeling exposed, and if I was the cause of that then she'd rather have me leave than try to fix things. Not this time. I wouldn't let her do this. She was the most infuriating, frustrating, _stubborn_ woman I'd ever met, but I could be stubborn too.

"No, I _don't_!" _Say it, say it out loud, to my face, be _honest_ with me so I can help you. Let me in._

"Why did you come here?" She asked suddenly, changing tack as soon as she realised I wouldn't fall for it. She lifted her chin in defiance, radiating power and confidence from every pore, looking down at me even though I towered over her.

"I came here to…" with her standing right in front of me, expression stiff and joyless, it just seemed stupid, "I came here to ask you to have dinner with me sometime. In the Presidium. To take your mind off things."

Genuine shock registered on her face for the briefest moment before her lips curled back in scorn, "Are you _high?_" she spat, her brows crashing together, "You think I have the time for something like that? I can't go to _dinner_, Kaidan, there are people dying all around me and I can't stop the Reapers if I'm trying to make small talk with you on the _fucking_ Citadel."

"You won't be able to do _anything_ unless you take some time for yourself, don't you get that? You're _killing_ yourself here, Jena. You're running yourself ragged, you're barely eating, I _know_ you're not sleeping…I mean…did you think I wouldn't notice?" I watched her face fall, the anger draining out and replaced with something close to guilt, her eyes wide and anxious though her mouth was set in a thin line, "All…all I wanted was to give you a break from it the mission, something to look forward to, just for an hour, just so you can get your feet back on the ground. All I want is to _help_ you."

"You can…you can help me by leaving," she said softly, the hard edge gone from her voice. Glancing down, I saw her fingers shaking as she dug them into her arms. I grit my teeth in frustration at her persistent stubbornness in the face of everything, at how she'd rather suffer in silence than admit anything was wrong.

_Please, Jena, I can't help you unless you let me in. I can't help you unless you tell me what you need. _

"_Why_?" I demanded, hating the way she recoiled back into herself, "Why do you want me gone so badly? I've said sorry a thousand times, I trust you with my life, we work _so well_ together, I _care_ about you, why can't-?"

"Because I can't _handle_ having you here, Kaidan!" she snarled, and I saw it right there in front of me, the moment she snapped, the moment she decided she was sick of pretending and the fire erupted furiously behind her eyes, "I…I don't know _why_, I don't understand why I can't just _click_ my fingers and not give a shit about you anymore, but I _can't_, and I can't see you every day without…without…" she caught herself at the last second, and her face crumpled with misery, "You _know_ what I mean."

I deflated with a sigh, taking in her defeated expression, the weariness etched on her face, the look of someone who had been fighting too many battles for far too long. It was my fault for not seeing it sooner.

"So this _is_ about us?" I asked quietly.

"There isn't an _us_," she shot back with a scowl, an angry line appearing between her brows, "not anymore." I grabbed hold of that slim little thread, the sadness woven through her voice, and I refused to let her go, not if there was still a _chance_.

"That is _bullshit_, Jena, and you know it," I insisted, "I have _never _stopped wanting to be with you, not since the first moment I saw you. I have _always_ cared about you far, _far_ more than I should, and that never changed, not _ever_."

"No, _that_ is bullshit," she snarled, stepping towards me and jabbing her finger in the air, hair dancing wildly about her face, "you made it pretty damn clear how you felt on Horizon, _then_ on Earth, and _then_ on Mars, and you can try and backtrack all you like, but don't pretend things were the _same_."

There was pain written all over her face, and knowing that I'd caused it, even unintentionally, made hot shame crawl up my throat. We should have had this conversation _months_ ago.

"I fucked up, okay?" I replied, _hating_ the way I'd reacted back then, out of fear, out of ignorance, wishing I could take it all back, "But I _did_ feel the same, I still cared about you. Even after _two __years_ I still felt the same. And yeah, you disappearing shook me up, but—"

"_Disappearing_?" Jena growled, her eyes darkening, "Is _that_ what you think happened?" I could see the fury rising up in her flushed face and I tensed up immediately, all the while telling myself that anger was still better than the total apathy I'd had from her before. At least anger was honest.

"Did you think I just took a fucking vacation to think things through?" she demanded, her voice shaking, "Do you _really think_ you have any right to be more _fucked up_ about it than I am? I was _dead_. I _died_. I _actually, literally died_." She hammered each word home by pounding her hand against her open palm, her piercing eyes suddenly clear and lucid and _awake_. I got the feeling that this was the first time she'd actually spoken about it, the first time she'd been open about what had happened to her. I _knew _that she'd died, I'd seen the video, but only now was I starting to understand how it had changed the woman in front of me.

I thought of the decision I made to leave her behind on the Normandy, assuming she could survive anything, _knowing_ she'd be right behind me. I thought of the months – _years_ – of mad grief and guilt that followed. Death was supposed to give you peace, it was supposed to be an end to all pain, but for her it had been the total opposite, and I knew now that she hadn't found peace since that one fateful day above Alchera.

Her voice hushed, trembling slightly as she spoke, the words rushing out now that the floodgates had opened, "I felt it happen. I knew what was coming, I was _terrified_, and I felt everything go black. I remember it _all_. And the next thing I know it's two years later and I'm waking up to a world where _everything_ is different and you were _gone_ and I didn't know how to get you back. I was with the enemy, and my body's half-robot now, and I _still_ didn't fucking _ask_ for _any _of this. And I get that it freaked you out, I _get_ that, and I know things could have gone down better, but it was _not_ _my fault_!"

Her scowl shifted, her lips drawing together not in anger but in something close to betrayal as she looked up at me, the words suddenly tumbling out of her mouth as though they'd been locked up for years, "And you know what? You were the only one – the _only_ one – out of everyone I cared about that didn't at least give me the _benefit_ of the doubt. What makes it even worse is that I needed _your_ approval the most. I needed _you_. And you couldn't even swallow your pride and anger at me for the thirty _fucking_ seconds it would have taken me to explain myself. You didn't even _think_ that I might have had a good explanation, or that there was some _good reason_ for me to be with Cerberus, you just assumed that I was a goddamn _traitor_. And I know why you did it, I _know_ why, I understand, but that doesn't make it okay. You have no _idea_ what it took for me to open up to you like I did, and for you to just…just…I…"

She dropped her hands by her sides helplessly as her voice broke on the last word. I could see the unshed tears shining bright in her eyes, the way her swollen lips were shaking, and every word she spoke hammered home _exactly_ what this had done to her, _exactly_ what my betrayal of trust had meant.

_I'm sorry, _I thought, my tight throat not letting me speak the words that sounded pathetic after her full-on outburst, _I didn't mean to. I didn't know. I never meant to hurt you. I'm so, so sorry._

"What makes it worse is…" she clawed a hand through her hair, looking at me frantically, "I mean…I was a _child soldier_. Do you even _get_ that? I've been used and abused all my life, I've had to fight for _everything_ I have, there's only the tiniest handful of people in this horrible fucking world who have ever cared about me. I don't _exactly_ have the healthiest emotions! I _know_ that! I'm not a good moral compass, I'm not the person who can tell you if something's right or wrong…but…even _I_ thought how you reacted was _fucked up_."

"Jena—"

"_No_, you're going to _listen_," she snarled suddenly, raw emotion bursting through every word, overflowing like she had no idea how to contain it all, "I _died_, Kaidan, and I was completely _lost_. I had no idea who I could trust or _what_ I should be doing, and I couldn't find you, and I was so _sure_ that the Collectors had taken you when I came to Horizon, and when I realised you were there I was just…I was just so _happy_," a hot tear spilled out from a corner of her wide eyes and rolled down her flushed cheek, a sight which hit me even harder than her words, "I didn't even think about what it might mean, I just thought…you'd come back, you know?" she sniffed, swatting at her eye irritably, "But then you…you acted like you'd rather I'd have stayed _dead_. You acted like I was the _enemy_ even though I…I never did anything wrong, and even if I _did_, I'm allowed to make mistakes, aren't I? Just like _everyone else_? You of _all_ people should have known to treat me like a human being, to know that when it came down to it I'd do the _right thing_, but you couldn't even give me _that_! You didn't even _listen_!" her voice broke with pain, and something inside me broke with it. Cold fire prickled along my skin, shame and guilt and _agony_ at all that I'd done to her making all the apologies in the world seem useless.

"I needed you to listen and to tell me it was all going to be fine but you _didn't_," she cried, "instead you _walked away_ from me and you _broke my fucking heart!"_

She stopped suddenly and clamped her shaking hands over her mouth as though that was the only way to stop the truth from pouring out. Her eyes rose up to mine, alarmed and anxious and full of bright, bitter tears. I stared back at her, my mouth open, feeling stunned and absolutely wretched because everything she said had truth to it, more than I wanted to admit. I should have known better, her eyes said, I should have _known_ she would feel this way, I should have known I had the capacity to cause her that much pain, even if I'd never _meant_ any of it.

It hit me like a full biotic kick in the teeth. All the scorn she'd showed me, the way she'd spit and snarl and act like she couldn't stand the sight of me, none of it came from _hate_. It came from something else, something she didn't know how to deal with because she'd never had it before. And all this time, I'd been too stupid, too caught up in the idea that Commander Shepard was above it all, too _blind_ to realise it. In that moment, everything was clear.

She dropped her hands from her mouth, lowering them slowly to her sides, and I watched her expression shift as she decided that _this_ outburst was something she would stand behind. I drank her in, the bright, glistening eyes, red with furious tears, wisps of hair loose around her flushed face, her expression burning with sadness and betrayal and – always – a fierce kind of _defiance_ that said not even _this_ could break her.

I wanted to sink to my knees, gather up her hands, kiss them and ask her to forgive me. I wanted to change the world, make it so none of this had ever happened, so that she'd never gone, never _died_ and I'd never even had the _chance_ to hurt her as I did.

"I know," I said at last, my voice hoarse, "And I…I'm so, so sorry. For all of it. I'm so sorry, Jena." I shook my head, spreading my palms helplessly because, this time, I couldn't think of any magic words to say to make it all better, "I hate that any of it happened. I _hate_ that I made you feel that way, and I wish I could take it all back. All of it. Everything that happened since…since you died."

"It doesn't _matter_," she said sharply, drawing the robe tighter around her body, her voice still thick with emotion as she swatted at her eyes, "None of that matters. You should…you should go."

She moved to turn away, pain etched on her face, but in that moment I panicked, thinking I was losing her _again_, and I reached out to grab her arm. She flinched as she looked down at my hand on her wrist, her body tensing, but she didn't pull away.

"I'm not going," I insisted, feeling her pulse racing under my thumb, watching her puffed-up lips fall open in surprise, "Not now, not _ever_. Leaving you to die on the Normandy was the biggest mistake I ever made, and walking away from you on Horizon was the _second_ biggest." I stepped closer and she looked up at me, fear and uncertainty flashing through her eyes. This was what I should have said from the beginning. This was what I should have told her from the very start. I could only hope she could find it in her heart to forgive me for taking so long.

"I can't fix that," I said, "I can't take back the things I said, I can't pretend I wasn't an _asshole _to you…but all of it, _everything_ I've done is because…" I moved my hands to her shoulders tentatively, feeling the tension there release as she let out a deep, shuddering sigh, forcing the air through her tight throat as she stared resolutely at _anything_ but me, "Because the idea of having you back, only to lose you again was something I couldn't handle. You meant too much to me, you still _do_. I couldn't let myself fall for you again, because if I did I _knew_ there would be no going back, I wouldn't be able to let you go, and I…I _couldn't_ lose you again. So I kept you at a distance, I couldn't let myself believe that…that you were real, because if you _weren't_...I couldn't take it."

_I love you,_ I wanted to say, _I've always loved you_, but I kept that inside. It was for another time. Another time when I could explain to her exactly what that meant, and why she didn't have to be afraid. Instead, I stepped closer and watched her eyes flutter close as she drew in another shaking breath. I tilted forward to touch my forehead to hers, and she stayed perfectly still, not leaning closer but never trying to move away. She kept her eyes tightly shut, her lips drawn back as conflict danced over her face.

"But I don't care anymore," I said quietly, her skin hot and flushed against mine, "I don't care what happens, I just want you back. _God_, Jena," wisps of her wet hair brushed against my face, "I just want things to be how they were before any of this happened, when it was just the two of us and…I didn't want anything I was with you, everything was perfect. I just want you back. I want _us_ back. And…if you really, _really_ want me to, I'll go, but not unless you can look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want me back too."

"We…we can't," I heard her whisper. She opened her eyes, glanced up at me and her eyes were full of tears, irises gleaming like gold, "We can't go back. I _died_. It's almost three years later. Everything's fucked up. Everything's changed. Back then we could ignore all the shit in the galaxy, but now…" she shook her head resolutely, like a child refusing to swallow a pill, "I…Kaidan, I…it's still raw, for me. What happened with us." Her hands moved up to my arms and she clutched at them with shaking fingers, as though she could hardly believe I was there, "I lost two years, I never had time to recover. I'm still…I just…I feel like I'm breaking apart with everything that's happening, and I don't know how to deal with it, and having you around is…it's…"

She looked up again, straight into my soul, our noses brushing against each other, and her voice quietened to a whisper, "I want to go back too. I want things to be how they were. But I…" her hands tightened around me, as if afraid I'd run at any second, "I don't know if I can deal with it. I can't be…just…_casual_ with you," she gritted her teeth together, as though just _saying_ the words killed her, "It's all or nothing, and that…that _terrifies_ me, Kaidan."

In her face, beautiful with sadness, I saw her begging me to take it all away from her, to tell her it would all be okay because she was too lost and alone and afraid to reassure herself. She was asking me if I could take on _everything_ that she was, the good and the bad, the fearless commando _and_ the fractured, broken woman her life had twisted her into. To me, it wasn't even a question I hadn't been there for her; all this time when she needed me I hadn't been there. I'd told myself it was for her benefit, but all I'd done with my reluctance was make things worse. I hated it, I _hated_ that I'd ever caused her pain. Never again, I thought, never _ever_ again.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

My fingers felt tense and useless as they hung against his arms. I wanted to pull him towards me, make him wrap his arms around me like he had earlier because this time I didn't have the strength to run away. I didn't know _why_ I thought I couldn't have him, it had just…felt like it was impossible. But that was before everything in my heart had come tumbling out of my mouth and I'd told him things that I'd barely been able to _think_ before. And then he'd looked at me with such pain in his eyes that I _knew_ he understood, and I wondered why I'd ever thought he wouldn't. I didn't know why I'd expected him to be able to read my mind.

He'd said he wanted me back, that he wanted _us_ back, and here I stood, racked with indecision, because every instinct I had was telling me to _run_ even as my heart insisted that maybe, this time, it would all be okay. Maybe this was what I truly needed; maybe it _wouldn't_ blow up in my face.

I looked into his eyes and thought that, maybe, I could trust him with my heart just as I'd always trusted him with my life.

The words froze in my throat. I wanted to tell him, I _did_, but…fuck, I could face down Reapers, I could charge into the mouth of hell with only a pistol at my side, but this, right here, _this_ still terrified me.

"I know it does," he said hoarsely, bringing a hand up to cup my face, brushing his thumb over my wet cheek. My face felt swollen and heavy, my lips too full to talk. "And I'm…" he closed his eyes, screwing his brows together in pain, "I'm so, _so_ sorry that I ever hurt you, or that I ever made you think I didn't care, because I _do_," with a sigh his eyes opened and his palm moved around to stroke over my neck as he looked at me in a way no one but him had _ever _looked at me. Like I was the most precious thing in the world, like he'd give up everything he had just for _me_. "I care about you so much, I always have, even when I _knew_ I wasn't supposed to. Losing you was…it was the worst thing that ever happened to me. And it was _hell_ not being with you, Jena. Not being able to tell you _every _day how perfect you are, how happy you make me, and how every time I see you, all I want is—"

I didn't let myself think. I heard his words, felt the way they made my heart swell up with irresistible affection, and I cut him off by lifting my head and pressing my lips against his, hard and desperate as I breathed him in. Instantly he responded and his arms tightened around me, everything else long forgotten. I felt the air rushing in through his nose as he pulled me closer, my fingers digging in to his biceps. My mouth opened under his and we kissed as though this was our first gasp of air after years of suffocation.

He returned every move I made. As my hands slid up to curve over his neck one of his arms encircled my waist and he pulled me tighter towards him, like every space between us was too much after so, so long of being apart. I broke off reluctantly, my heart fluttering in my chest, breath coming hard and heavy as he nuzzled against me, our noses brushing over each other, planting half-kisses where his lips fell against my cheek.

His body was so solid beneath my fingers, and just the way he _smelled_ was enough to make me feel dizzy with longing. The very idea that this could be _real_, that he could feel for me _a tenth_ of what I felt for him, that after all this time I might not have to be alone, that I had a chance for _happiness_, however fleeting…

It made me want to cry all over again.

"I couldn't hate you," I heard myself say after a while, my voice a hoarse whisper as I stroked my nose against his, my eyes still closed just in case he'd disappear as soon as I looked, "after Horizon, after _everything_. I tried, you know, but I couldn't. And even with…with all this around us, I…when I can just suck it up and be honest with myself, I know that all I want is just…to pretend that nothing's changed. That…that we can be together again, just as we used to be."

I looked up and saw he was still there, staring back at me with those soft, whiskey-brown eyes that I'd missed so, _so_ much. They were filled with such a strange mix of sorrow and happiness and something which I never thought I'd see, something I didn't understand just yet.

_Please_, I thought, wanting him to read my mind, _please just tell me I can have it all back. Please tell me it's okay for me to feel this way, that this won't blow up in my face like everything has always done before._

_Please just tell me it'll all be okay. Even if you have to lie._

Gently, he pulled me into another kiss, light and soft, and when he found his voice it sounded just as rough as mine, "Then let's just pretend," he said, "For whatever time we have left, let's just pretend that…that we're not in the middle of a war, that starting up again now isn't the craziest idea either of us have ever had."

With a sudden, bubbling release of tension I found myself laughing, brimming with euphoria after my tears of rage only moments ago, the _insanity_ that had been this long, long day. I felt light, airy, like I could float away, as though a shadow had been lifted from my entire body. He joined me, the skin around his eyes creasing beautifully as he smiled. I pressed my hand to the warmth of his neck, his jawline, wanting to drink in the image of him, still feeling like he could shatter into pieces and blow away at any moment if I held on too tight.

"It was…a pretty stupid idea last time, too," I said, and the feeling of actually just _smiling_ because I couldn't help myself was overwhelming, "but that didn't stop me."

"Me neither," he murmured, stroking my hair back from my scarred-up face.

"I'm sick of being careful anyway," I said, closing my eyes and brushing my face against the stubble on his jaw, "I just...want to be happy. Just for a little while. It's been...so long." I dug my fingers into his shoulders just to feel his muscles shifting as he moved, just to convince myself he was _real_. "I'm sorry for shouting," I whispered meekly, "I just…I missed you so much."

"I missed you more," he replied with a smile in his voice, running his fingers up over the short hairs at the back of my skull, "I _promise_."

Something overwhelming rose up inside me, a sudden _need_ to close every inch between us, to make up for lost time, to cement this senseless, stupid idea that we could exist just as we used to, the idea I'd kept alive in my mind for so long. I kissed him again, just to remind myself that I could. I wrapped my arms around his neck, dragged my hands through his hair, pulling him closer, _closer_, standing on the tips of my toes just to press harder against him.

I felt his breath come faster as we kissed like it was our last night alive all over again. I nipped at his lips with my teeth, heard the groan deep in his throat, felt how his hands clenched around my body. My robe was pooling around my shoulders, and suddenly his hand dived inside the folds and gripped tight around my bare waist, fingers kneading my hot, flushed skin. I hated the thin clothes I'd pulled on earlier to sleep in, the tiny shorts and tank top that were just more useless layers between us. I hated the shirt he still wore, and slipped my fingers beneath the collar to feel his shoulders working beneath. Adrenaline thrummed in my veins, filling me with a need to simultaneously take as much as I could as _fast_ as I could and also take it slow, enjoy every moment now that just being _alive_ didn't hurt.

I couldn't help myself. Smiling against his mouth, I pushed at his chest and together we moved to the steps that led to my empty bed.

He backed down the stairs, and with one arm tight around my waist, he picked me up like I weighed nothing and held me high against him. I clenched my legs around his chest and cradled his head in my arms, his hand moving up my thigh to hold me in place. My eyes swept open to look straight into his, and they lit up as a grin spread across his face, like he couldn't believe any of this was happening. Neither could I.

_Don't think_, I told myself, _not about the future, not about the war or the ship or the pain. Just enjoy this._

My head swam blissfully as he dipped me back and I sunk into the covers bunched up at the bottom of my bed. As he climbed over me, I pulled the shirt over his head and arched my body up towards his, _needing_ to remember what it felt like, to convince myself it had happened then just as it was happening now. I wanted to drink in every second, every inch of his skin that touched mine, I wanted to feel _alive_ again.

His hands moved to my waist as my robe fell open, lips trailing down my jawline to kiss my neck. I gasped at the sudden, sharp spike of pleasure that shot right through my core and twisted my head involuntarily. It was then I saw the scar on my shoulder, the _big_ one, the one with thick, red lines and jagged edges from where I'd been pieced back together, and something inside me went cold.

It was all well and good to pretend that nothing had changed, I thought, but underneath this cracked skin I had metal woven through my bones, synthetic skin and the heart of a machine. New, hideous scars ran over my body, more than before, _worse_ than before. What if—

"What is it?" He murmured, his hands pausing on their journey up my sides as he lifted his head to look straight at me. I stared back at him, suddenly far, far too aware of my own body, and I didn't know how to explain it. He must have seen something close to panic in my face, because immediately he moved back, kneeling on the floor between my legs slung over the edge of the bed. "We…we don't have to," he said, his hands covering mine gently, reassuringly, "it's okay."

I looked at him then, his eyes filling up with concern as he stubbornly ignored the scars running over my thighs and belly, the marks on this body that had been so abused and patched-up, and it hit me once again that this was someone who had cared about me all this time, through _everything_. Why was I still so hesitant to believe that I had found something real? With anyone else I wouldn't have _cared_ what they thought of the scars, but with Kaidan it was…somehow different.

"It's just…" I started, my voice hoarse as I leant up on my elbows and wove my fingers through his to show that it wasn't his fault, "…my body. It's different now, you know? It won't be the same, not like you remember. I've…got all these new scars from when they rebuilt me, there's all this metal and shit in my bones, and…"

_And for some reason I'm scared that you won't find me attractive anymore, and that even if you've still cared about me all this time, you might just care about the idea of Shepard and not the real thing. The real thing is far, far scarier. I know, because I live in here._

Understanding dawned as he glanced down to my bare thighs, up to my torso and then back at the curve of scars over my left eye socket. There was that look in his eyes again – pure, unbridled affection, longing, something I wasn't used to, but I was quickly learning to enjoy the way my heart fluttered in my chest every time it happened.

My voice trailed off in my throat as he moved his arms back around my waist and pulled my hips to his, still with that look glinting in his dark eyes. He cradled my body closer and nuzzled his nose over the rough skin of my scarred cheek.

"You still smell exactly the same, you know," he murmured, and I felt the breath catch in my throat as something unknown stirred up my stomach with butterflies, "and you _feel_—" his hands were hot against my skin as they rose up my back "—just as good as you ever did. If you really _are_ different, all it means is I'll get to learn about your body all over again."

My heart was fluttering, palpitating with something like nervousness but it was a _good _feeling, and I moved my shaking arms around his neck and kissed him again, long and slow, like we had all night to rediscover each other. I supposed, as I shrugged off my robe at last, we _did_.

It was difficult to stop myself from smiling against his mouth, even as his warm fingers tugged my top over my head and my breasts were suddenly bare against his chest, electric excitement crackling over every inch of my skin. I felt like the luckiest woman alive, and I didn't understand how I could make such a leap from earlier that day. It felt like a dream. I'd got so used to the idea that good things just _didn't _happen to me, but he was still kissing me and it _felt_ so real, and the idea hammered home, again and again, that just for now, just this once, maybe I should just take the good things as they came. There was such a deep, primal comfort that came with flushed skin pressed against skin, something so human and perfect, so _simple_. Peace and warmth flooded my body. I wanted _more_.

Adrenaline joined the hormones rushing through my blood and I found myself raking my hands through his hair, gasping against his lips, unwilling to move away from him even as his fingers hooked around my shorts and tugged them off. It wasn't like it had been before – this time I felt no need to impress him, no hidden fears holding me back. I didn't shy away from the intimacy, the murmured affection and tender kisses, instead as we moved together I imprinted every moment into my mind, loving the feel of him against me, inside me, after so long of thinking I'd never have him again. It was slow, warm, loving, and in all ways perfect.

When we fell away from each other at last, I lay back and felt the deep breaths I took rolling through my abdomen as slick sweat cooled on my naked body. As the blood rushed back to my head I found myself wanting to just laugh and laugh and _laugh_, total euphoria hitting me like a bright flash of light. At the same time, I was furious with myself, hating the petty, childish side of me that fought back against _everything_ and couldn't admit to problems and had made such a huge issue out of Kaidan and I that I'd spent so long being _too scared_ to just tell him how I'd felt this entire time. But then it had come out anyway. And, for once, it had all been okay. And now my entire body wanted to smile.

A grin broke out on my face as I rolled over to drape my body on his, staring down at him as I brushed the hair back from his face. His eyes were still closed, but the breathless smile on his lips was the picture of pure physical satisfaction as he wrapped an arm around my waist possessively. I couldn't stop myself from just _looking_ at him and marvelling that this was all real.

I was still aware that it could blow up in my face. That idea hadn't gone away, but now I just…didn't care as much. This could be the worst decision I ever made, this could fuck up spectacularly and leave me even more broken than before, but at that moment I didn't have it in me to care. If I _was_ going to die, if these days _were_ to be my last, then I wanted to spend them like this. I wanted to wring as much joy out of this world as I possibly could while I still lived in it, and right now that meant being able to forget everything around me as I lay here in his arms. It was all I'd ever wanted.

With a hand stroking over the still sensitive skin of my back, he drew me into a kiss, deep and slow. When I opened my eyes he was looking back up at me in something close to wonder. I bet he had _no idea_ of how good a lover he was.

"I needed that," I purred, nudging my nose against his, "so _fucking_ much."

His answering chuckle rippled through my body, "You're telling _me_," he murmured, voice slurring with animal contentment, "you were dead for two years – if that doesn't count as you getting older then it sure as hell doesn't count as a dry spell."

I grinned, but inside I wondered if he realised that he'd just assumed I'd been with no one else since the Normandy crash. Sure, I'd been busy, and of course I _hadn't_ been with anyone else, but it wasn't for lack of opportunity. I just…hadn't _wanted_ to. It wouldn't have been the same. Seeing Luca again with James had hammered it home that I didn't want anyone else but Kaidan, and back then the thought had made me feel stupid and ashamed. But now I could accept that _this_, right here, was what I needed – not a fling with a man who didn't understand what it meant to be me, but something real. Besides, I got the feeling that even if there _had_ been others, Kaidan would understand why. He'd forgive me. He was good at that.

"Wait," I started as something occurred to me, "you're saying _you_ weren't with anyone else either? For three whole years, there was no one else?" My voice sounded flippant, disbelieving, but inside my stomach was churning with unfounded resentment at the very _idea_ of anyone else having their hands on him while I was in a lab. The way that _fucking_ doctor had looked at him was enough to set me off. I'd never been jealous like this before, but apparently Kaidan brought out the worst as well as the best in me.

He gave a sort of half-shrug as he lay there, brushing it off as nothing, "I went on one date. That's about it."

"A date?" I echoed in surprise, "An actual _date_?" The idea baffled me. I knew what they were, of course, but I'd never been on one before. I wasn't sure what their purpose was. Sex had never been hard to come by for me, and I'd never wanted anything above that, so what the hell were they _for_? Kaidan would know, I thought – that was the kind of thing he did, he was so goddamn _normal_.

Wait, I thought suddenly, no he _wasn't_. I always thought of him as irritatingly vanilla but, when it came down to it, Kaidan was an L2 biotic, a fierce commando, a _Spectre_, and apparently the only woman he wanted was an N7 with cybernetics and a twisted past. That wasn't anything _close_ to normal.

"Yeah," he smirked at me, a teasing note in his voice as his fingers trailed over the curve of my back, "dinner, drinks, it was all _very _romantic."

"With who? I'll kill the bitch." He didn't need to know that I was only half-joking.

"…And _that_ is why I'm not telling you," he replied, his arm tightening around my waist as though to reassure me, "but it doesn't matter. We wouldn't have worked out anyway."

I glanced down, as though I wasn't really that interested even though I was ravenous for information, "Why's that?"

"Nothing really, she just…" the smile he gave me then was small, but it made me feel like I was the most beautiful, perfect woman he'd ever laid eyes upon, "…wasn't _you_. And it's always been you, Jena. Always." He reached up and brushed a wisp of hair from my face, tilting my chin up so I was looking back at him, "Even when I tried to move on and forget about you, about _us_…I couldn't. Hell, I'm just glad you came back alive because I'd pretty much be screwed otherwise." He smirked, and I laughed despite myself. His tone was light, jovial, but all at once his words stirred something serious inside me.

A half hour ago I'd been _screaming_ at him to get out, blaming him for all that had happened since we'd been forced apart. Now I was clinging to him like a lifeline, something I'd let go of over my dead body. Shame fluttered down to my stomach, and I moved to rest my head in the crook of his neck so I wouldn't have to look him in the eyes. I wondered what was going through his head. If he thought I was still as crazy as I'd sounded.

I'd never been very good at apologies, or at admitting I'd been wrong or that I might have overreacted. I hated admitting weaknesses, or leaving myself open to be mocked and ridiculed for my mistakes. But this was a new beginning, a final gasp of living life to its full before the entire galaxy crashed down around us. I wouldn't fuck it up by not being honest with him. Not this time.

"I didn't mean it, you know?" I said suddenly, my voice meek as I stared at my thumb brushing over his collarbone affectionately, "All that stuff I said before, about…you know, you being an asshole when I came back. I mean…I meant _some_ of it, sure, but…I get why you reacted that way. I understood it then, too, but I think it just made me feel worse. I wanted to be angry, and I wanted to be angry at _you_, to blame you for _everything_, but…I couldn't. Not really. I still cared about you so much."

He shifted onto his side so he was looking down at me, his eyes warm, "I meant it when I said I was sorry," he murmured, his fingertips trailing over my hairline, "because I _am._ You didn't say anything I didn't deserve to hear. I'd rather you take it all out on me than out on yourself."

_No_, I thought incredulously. It wasn't right that I'd blamed him; even _I _knew that so he _must _have. He couldn't be that kind, that _forgiving_ of the way I was. It wasn't possible.

"But—"

"I _mean_ it," he insisted, staring right into my soul, wanting me to take in every word, "That's what being together means – sharing the good _and_ the bad. And this is the real deal for me, Jena. You know that, right? I mean…sometimes I can't believe how much I care about you. It's more than I've ever cared about anyone or any_thing_. And I…I promise, I _promise_ I'll never doubt you again. And I'll never leave you, I'll never…well I'll _try_ to never hurt you. For whatever time we've got left. That's what this _is_ to me. If it's all or nothing then I want _all_ of it. All of _you_."

My heart was beating so loud I was _sure_ this time that he must be able to hear it in the dark, silent room. His words washed over me like the warmth of his skin, and I thought to myself, again, that this _must_ be a dream because I'd spent so much of my life _firm_ in the knowledge that this kind of thing would just never happen to me. I'd never wanted it, not _ever_, not until I'd lost it, but now it was happening again. I had a second chance with him, just as I'd had so many second chances before, and I was so, _so_ happy.

The idea that someone else could feel the same as I did, that someone else in the world might have the slightest idea of who I was and still be able to _care_ for that person as he cared about me…it blew my fucking mind. It was like finding out for the first time that I wasn't alone. And that I never had to be alone again. It felt like being wide awake at last.

I wanted to press my face against his until we could _melt_ into each other. I wanted to curl up inside him and stay there forever. I wanted to jump on this bed like a child, screaming _yes_ at the skylight, because I really, truly couldn't remember ever feeling this euphoric before, this _weightless_ with joy. Not on this ship. Not in this lifetime. The last time I'd been close, I'd been with the man holding my body to his right now. For the first time in _forever_ I thought to myself that maybe, just maybe, it could all be okay. Maybe we'd win. Maybe this happiness really _could_ last forever.

"You…" I started feebly, "…always know just what to say."

I didn't know what else I could possibly do to let him know how it felt for a person like me to stare into his eyes and see everything in my heart reflected right back. So I kissed him instead. I nuzzled my face against his, I refused to give in to the idea that caring this much was a stupid, weak thing to do, and I let myself love every last second we were together. I didn't know how long we lay there whispering and laughing and kissing like teenagers with nothing better to do, but it wasn't long before I felt my body – the thing I'd denied and pushed to its very limits for months – start to beg me for sleep. Kaidan had noticed – he _always_ noticed – and pulled the blanket over the curve of my hip as he settled himself against me. Wordlessly, we stared at the stars rushing above us, and as my eyelids began to droop I told myself that, this time, it was okay to let go and_ relax_. This time, I wasn't alone.

The fog of sleep was dragging me down just as I felt his lips brushing over my brow affectionately.

"I think I missed _this_ the most," he said, his voice a low, sleepy murmur.

"Hmm?" I mumbled, my eyes still closed.

"Sleeping next to you, and knowing you'll be there when I wake up."

There was an answer in the back of my mind, but at that moment sleep folded around me just as tight as his arms, and the last thing I felt before I drifted away was the warmth that bloomed inside me, the feeling of absolute security and calm in the face of so much chaos.

For once, my dreams were at peace, and the nightmares didn't come.

* * *

**Chapter 27: Perfect – **Shepard starts to wrap her head around the idea of being with Kaidan again, and after a few too many close calls with the quarians, Kaidan begins to come to terms with what it means to be in love with the saviour of the galaxy.

**I did a painting to go along with this chapter!** It was actually for a fan project, but it works as an illustration too. Visit my deviantart from my profile page, or you can find it directly here, just change DOTs to actual dots, obviously: jinxiedoodleDOTdeviantartDOT com/#/d5a0drk It's also on my Tumblr (linked from my profile), under my art tag.

The next few chapters will take a little longer - I've been falling a little behind this summer, so I want to try and catch up and shape up later chapters to make sure it's all consistent. But I haven't forgotten, promise! And, as always, all your messages and reviews make me smile when I check my mail on the train to work every morning, so keep 'em coming :)


	27. Perfect

**A.N. **So this was supposed to be a bit of fluffy filler, but I'm not very good at fluff _or_ filler, so here's 15,000 words (how!?) of...I'm not sure what. Next chapter will probably take even longer still, as it's not even close to finished and I want to have a stab at the ones after too. Enjoy!

**Chapter 27:** Perfect

_Shepard_

"I thought they were the same?" My brow furrowed in frustration at the indecipherable display that cycled through my omnitool.

"They're not," Kaidan replied with the patience of a saint, "they only look the same, but—"

"Well if they look the same how am I supposed to tell them apart?" I demanded, leaning up on my elbows and looking over to where he sat on the other end of the sofa, my feet propped up on his lap. We hadn't started off sitting like this, but after an hour of trying to do actual work I'd made myself pretty damn comfortable. The starboard observatory wasn't exactly a hub of activity either, so there wasn't much chance of someone walking in. Besides, the stars were beautiful this close to the outer rim of the galaxy, far too distracting to concentrate on reports and briefings. And they weren't the _only_ distracting thing I could see…

"It's code, not brightly coloured shapes," he said with a smirk, a hand resting absently on my knee, "it's a little more complicated than that."

"I don't like the new security update, that's all," I insisted, "ever since I woke up two years later it's been giving me hell. Now I just make Garrus do everything technical and hope no one notices."

He chuckled, "Yeah, Shepard, because you were a coding genius _before_ the omnigel update."

I scowled at the insult and thumped him in the chest with a bare foot.

"Okay, _okay_," he laughed, catching my feet in his hands and running a hand up my calve affectionately, "you kick ass at coding. Just like you kick ass at everything else."

I sniffed proudly to hide the stupid grin that threatened to break out on my face, "Damn right."

He tried, again, to explain the concept to me, and the meaning of his words barely registered because all I could think about was how, right now, things were as close to perfect as they'd ever been. Since this morning when I'd woken up feeling refreshed and _alive_ for the first time in so, so long, every time I caught his eye I found myself wanting to smile until my face hurt. There was no ringing in my ears, no humming, no background noise of overtiredness, just a strange kind of euphoria that held back the guilt and terror and everything else that this goddamn war had filled me with. I was still getting used to it, the idea that all the resentment and _pain_ I'd balled up and placed squarely on his shoulders could be swept away overnight, replaced with a kind of nervousness, butterflies, something thrilling and new that made me feel giddy with optimism. Honestly. Even with everything happening around us, the death tolls still piling up, I was downright jovial. It wasn't that I didn't still feel like hell about it all, or that I'd forgotten who I was or what I had to do. Nothing could make me forget that. It was just that, for now, the highs of being with him somehow..._outweighed_ it all.

I wasn't letting myself think about anything else. I couldn't. Sex and a good night's sleep had left me feeling _invincible_, and after the last few weeks of total hell I'd take this oasis of calm while it lasted. Kaidan was right. I _had_ been killing myself, and I'd barely even cared. Being honest about what I actually wanted felt…like some of the weight had been lifted from my shoulders. And having him right here meant there was someone else to carry the rest with me.

For the first time in _forever_, I was starting to think that maybe it could all be…okay.

"Look, maybe it'll just be easier if I copy a few programmes over," he admitted at last, bringing up his own display and cycling through a huge number of files, "I still use the same model as on the SR-1, you'll recognise the interface but these'll also work with the new security protocols."

"You've still got the same model?" I started in surprise, looking over his omnitool and realising that there was a reason its simple shape was so familiar.

"Yeah," he replied defensively, an embarrassed little smile on his face that I could finally admit I _loved_ to see, "It's still the best one there is, and I take good care of my equipment."

"I guess it matches your retrograde biotic implant, right?" I smirked, enjoying the fact that there was so much about him that was real and authentic and _old_ in sharp contrast to my many new skin grafts and upgrades. Hell, my left _arm_ was newer than that goddamn omnitool of his.

He grinned, "Exactly. And this one can still use all the stuff we picked up on the SSV Normandy. You know, geth defence protocols, some of Tali's sabotage programmes, I think I've even still got the code from _Vigil_ saved somewhere."

"You kept all that?" I sat up, shifting on the sofa so I was leaning against him with a perfect view as he swiped whole folders over to my omnitool. My eyes scanned the list of programmes, wondering the whole time if he'd kept any of the photos he'd taken of the first Normandy. Or of _me_. Kaidan had always been sentimental – something I still found adorable rather than annoying – it was the kind of thing he'd hold on to. Remembering the way he'd capture moments like the memory alone could never be enough…it was one of the things about him that had made me crumple up, sick with sadness, whenever I'd remembered that he was lost to me. But now, things were different. Fixed. Just like that. And the memory of all those photos just made me smile, especially the ones he'd taken of me.

I wondered how long he'd kept them for after I'd died. I wondered exactly how long it had taken for him to try to move on.

I wouldn't ask him, I decided. I'd ignore it, just as we were ignoring that whole ugly episode of our history, and so far it was working. I wasn't sure how long it would work _for_, but right now I knew I cared about him more than I'd ever cared about basically _anything_, and I knew he felt near enough the same. That was enough. Whatever had happened before, _this_ was enough for now.

He shrugged, "I kept almost all of it. Only got rid of things I knew I'd never need again, and as for the geth code, I figured that _had _to come in useful eventually. Seems pretty likely we'll be needing it if we're heading to the Far Rim."

"

"Yeah," I sighed, "Something tells me the quarians won't have their fleets ready and waiting after I shouted down their entire government last time I paid a visit. They'll probably have some ridiculous demands that'll waste even more time we don't have. But at least I'm pretty damn good at killing geth."

"And at least this way you'll be prepared." His arm brushed against mine as he swiped a few programmes over to my display, and the tiny hairs on my skin rose up in response.

"That one too," I reached out and pointed at Vigil's strange, distinctive code, the one that had blocked the Reaper signal from reaching the Citadel and saved the galaxy the first time around. If I was honest, it was just an excuse to move a little closer, to feel the warmth that radiated from his body after so long of purposefully keeping my distance. He swiped it over without comment and brushed my arm again but this time he didn't move back, and his thumb stroked over my wrist in a way that sent a shiver right down to my core. I thought of the night before, how _impossibly_ good it had felt to have him inside me again, and the blood rose to my cheeks.

Kaidan noticed. He _must_ have noticed because at that moment he leaned back, brought up his omnitool, and on cue I gave a wide, genuine smile that went all the way to my eyes as he snapped another picture. He looked down at the result with something close to pride on his face, as if he was pleased he'd actually got me to look happy after I'd spent so long walking around with a stormcloud brewing over my head. I leaned over to get a better look, and the woman grinning back at me looked unfamiliar. I'd been so used to seeing myself scowling at my own reflection, staring deep into hollow eyes trying to find a spark of life, something I could believe in, that I'd forgotten what I looked like with a smile on my face. I liked this better, I thought, this effortless happiness that kept washing over me every time I remembered that we'd finally _fixed_ things. It was like the universe was throwing me a bone, telling me that, just for once, there was something in my life that didn't have to be difficult.

I slid my arm around his wide shoulders, loving the way his muscles felt just beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, and he turned to me as I pressed my lips to his, light and quick. He smiled as he pulled back, face an inch from mine.

"What about the cameras?" he murmured, eyes flicking up to the corner where a light glinted accusingly.

"EDI's the only one that monitors them anyway," I replied, fairly sure it was true as I hadn't seen the camera feeds actually _displayed_ anywhere, "and she already knows."

His thick brows twitched together in surprise, "She _does_?"

"There's a sensor in my breastbone that links up to my hardsuit, but it's also linked up to EDI. I can't sneeze without her knowing it, so…yeah," I cleared my throat, remembering the hormones that had flooded my system the night before – and this morning – and were still lingering pleasantly in my bloodstream, "I think she knows."

"Think she'll tell anyone?" There was a note of mischief in his voice, as though he didn't much mind all the sneaking around. Anything that added another, brighter dimension to this ship was a plus in my book.

"The world is ending and we're both Spectres," I shrugged, his arm working its way around my waist to draw me closer, "I don't think I _care_."

He kissed me then, a _real_ kiss, his hand cupping my face as gently as if I were made of flower petals instead of scar tissue. If he weren't holding me tight, I was sure I'd just float away.

It was late in the day cycle, and tomorrow I would be heading into serious negotiations with the quarian fleet, but right here, right now, this time was _ours_. There wouldn't _ever_ be enough time to catch up on what we'd lost three years ago, but we could try. We could squeeze as much into these final few weeks as we could before the moment of truth. We could rediscover each other, pick up where we left off. I see could the day of reckoning there on the horizon, looming like a great black cloud of smog, but for now I still had a mission, and, as Kaidan had told me, it was important to take victories where I could.

Like this, I thought, this little victory right here that meant I could rest my face against his, feel the stubble on his cheek that I'd thought of touching so many times before when he was lost to me. How I'd felt before seemed like a dream, now. A stupid overreaction. At the time it had felt very, very real, and I knew that the anger I'd held on to about Kaidan had been entirely valid, but now I'd found the strength to let it go. This morning, as I'd woken up to find I was still cradled in his arms, breath soft against my hairline, I'd decided that I could forgive the fact that he'd _ever_ made me feel like I had. I'd decided that I could forgive his mistakes, his reactions, the fact that he wasn't as perfect as I'd always thought, if he could find it in him to forgive the maddening extremes of my emotions, the way I'd hang onto resentment like it was the only thing keeping me alive, refuse help and kindness like a kid putting on a tough act when I should have known better.

I'd tried to explain this to him, why it had taken so long to get things straight in my head, the reason I'd put so much effort into pushing him away, and he'd replied, simply, that he'd always known I was under a lot of pressure. This wasn't a situation that _anyone_ could stay sane in, not really, not without _help_. And now that I'd let him in, he could help. Before, I'd felt adrift, lost, watching the inevitable end approaching like the shockwave of a nuclear blast, hanging on just because I was too _stubborn _to let go. But now, it was like I'd found my second wind, the boost that would see me through this war and take me out the other side, not because it was my duty or because it was expected, but because I'd found something to fight for, something I wasn't _ever_ letting go of. Suddenly the Reapers weren't the only thing I could see in my future. Now _he_ was there too, and the war was just in the way.

Kaidan clearly felt the same. This morning, wrapped up in each other, he'd told me what it had really been like to know I was dead, how it had hit him like a freight train, grabbed hold of his life and squeezed all the joy out, and how even two years later, by the time he realised I was alive, it still hadn't completely let go. The fear that it could all happen again still lingered at the back of his mind. It had taken him so, so long to even _try_ to get over me, he'd said, that looking back he wasn't surprised he'd reacted as he did, with disbelief and distrust. Nor was I, when it came down to it. I was still scared, sure, but some things were worth a little fear.

I'd been trying to be honest with him. It was hard, breaking through so many layers and years of conditioning, but I was getting there. Now that we were together, now that I knew I could trust him with _everything_ I was, the floodgates had opened, and we could say all the things we wished we'd said before.

Well. _He_ could. I still had trouble forming my thoughts into words without feeling overwhelmed by it all, as though it were a life or death situation and I was about to give up our position to the enemy. Instead, I'd kiss him. I'd tell him '_yeah, I know_' without actually explaining how much I knew, but…I think he understood. He knew me well. I thought I'd been so good at keeping this impenetrable barrier up around the person behind the title, but he'd slipped through with so little effort. And I found that I liked it. It felt like validation for the first time. He knew that all my life I'd only ever been good at pushing people away if they got too close, or at making myself totally inaccessible to begin with. It was hard for me to let anyone in without fighting back, he _knew_ that, but…he also knew I was trying. And I really, really _was_ this time.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, brushing my hair back with that faraway smile on his face, like he didn't even care if I heard or not, "you know that?"

It wouldn't have meant a thing coming from someone else, but when Kaidan said it I felt the heat rise to my cheeks again, and I rolled my eyes to cover the smile that twitched at the corners of my mouth.

"Yeah," I replied, doing a terrible job of sounding casual, "I know."

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

I'd watched her straighten the band that held her hair in place just before she slipped on and pressurised her helmet, just as she always did. I'd watched her check and double check her weapons just before she turned and walked towards the doors of the airlock, Tali and EDI in tow. And it was only _then_ that I felt the anxiety swirling around in the pit of my stomach. With all that had happened since the last mission, I hadn't had the time or the need to consider what it would _really_ mean to start up with Jena again. Coming clean at last had been the best decision I'd ever made, and the brief time we'd had since that night had been the best in a long, _long_ time, but now we were _here_ and I had to come to peace with the fact that the woman I was in love with happened to be Commander Shepard, and she was at the head of this mission of ours, and sometimes – like now – I'd have to sit back and watch her walk into the fire on her own.

This wasn't an actual _fire_, but a shredded tube leading to a geth dreadnought filled with armed hostiles in the middle of a hot warzone was close enough for my liking. Still, it was the only way to get the job done, so here we were. She'd taken it all in her stride, of course. In her armour with the distinctive N7 stripe – and now the Spectre logo on her shoulder that matched mine – Shepard was afraid of nothing, but _I'd _been afraid. Was _still_ afraid. This mission shouldn't have even been necessary. This war should never have happened.

Everyone here knew that. Everyone who'd been in the Normandy's War Room, at least. I thought I'd imagined her snapping the words 'Are you all _fucking _with me?' before I'd felt the room go silent and turned to see her standing there with a hand raking through her hair, eyes narrowed and furious. The dressing-down she'd given the Admiralty Board about looking after their civilians and focusing on _one war at a goddamn time_ was something I was sure none of them would forget any time soon. She'd tangled with them already, I'd heard, and that had gone much the same. I could feel it in the way they glanced to one another that they were insulted by the outburst, but when they argued back it wasn't with the same fire, as if they _knew_ they were in the wrong. However much they tried to stand together as one, it was clear that not all the Admirals shared Gerral's enthusiasm for the conflict. He'd said she couldn't possibly understand their situation, and she'd calmly reminded him that at that very _second_ our people were being slaughtered on our home planet, and every little delay – like this one – only made things worse. The difference, she'd said, was that we hadn't sought out the Reaper war, and that we were fighting for our very _survival_.

I'd stayed silent throughout the proceedings, though I'd agreed with every word she'd said. They'd been foolish. Reckless. They'd lunged for an opportunity without looking and the backlash had almost wiped them out. At least they had Commander Shepard to save the day. Her and Tali had secluded themselves, and together they came up with a viable plan, a mission no one else would even _attempt_, because that was what N7s and Spectres did.

She was always saving everyone else's ass. Mine included. I'd been able to return the favour – I think – once or twice in the heat of a mission, but now I was left standing at the sidelines and could only pace through the ship and wait for her to get back. Her vitals were streaming across the screen on my omnitool as I sat in the starboard observatory, my eyes firmly on the tube threading the ships together as the war between the synthetics and their creators raged on all around us. The Normandy's stealth systems were unrivalled, but that didn't mean we couldn't be hit by a stray missile, and while any of their weapons wound bounce off our shields, the same couldn't be said for the long docking tube she was climbing through now.

Once or twice I managed to catch what I thought must be a reflection off her armour as she made her way around the tube, but it was hard to tell. Matte black plating didn't exactly stand out amongst the rubble. At one point I thought I saw movement, a flash of her N7 stripe illuminated by a blast from a nearby ship. I stood up and squinted to get a better look, cupped my hands around the glass, and that was how I didn't notice the quarian ship being blown to shreds to my left by a geth cannon, and how I didn't catch the huge chunk of debris that flew out from the blast until it was slicing through the tube like it was made of cobwebs, tearing it to shreds, right at the point where I thought I'd seen her last.

My heart leapt into my throat as I saw it happen, the lack of sound making it seem somehow unreal even though I was _far_ too aware of what this could mean. I tore my eyes away and stared desperately at the display in front of me where, with relief making me feel weak at the knees, I realised she was still very much alive. Her heart rate had rocketed, stress levels were through the roof, but at least her heart was still beating. I told myself it wasn't like the last time she'd been caught in a blast like this. It _couldn't_ be. I pressed my hands against the window as though I could get closer to her and scanned the length of the tube for any sign of life, even as I barked over my comm link for EDI to give me an update. I saw nothing. Was she still inside the tube? Had she been blown away? I looked back down at her vitals, and realised with a cold prickle along my skin that they were still off the charts. She never took that long to recover. Something had to be wrong, and I didn't know if it was something I could fix.

"Major Alenko?" it was EDI's voice coming straight from my omnitool, but I kept my eyes on Shepard's climbing heart rate as I answered.

"Go ahead."

"I am picking up abnormally high activity in the Commander's prefrontal cortex, more specifically in the norepinephrine receptors," she said briskly, and I watched as another flashing red alert popped up on her vitals screen, "Signs indicate a vivid flashback, likely a symptom of untreated posttraumatic stress disorder. I am attempting to communicate but she is not responding coherently. It may be that she is not fully aware of where she is."

Anxiety crawled down my throat and twisted my stomach into painful knots as I realised at once what I was seeing.

_She's been spaced before. She's _died_ in space, and we just sent her out on a platform that's falling apart in the middle of a warzone and expected her to keep it together._

She must have been _terrified_. I wanted to reach through the glass and pull her back, cradle her in my arms and keep her safe, but of course I couldn't. I wasn't even suited up, so I couldn't use my biotics to pull her back. At least there was _something_ Icould do.

"Let me talk to her," I said quickly, my heart racing as fast as hers as EDI confirmed she was setting up the link. At once I heard a torrent of swearwords, spat out through clenched teeth, and it took several tries for her to realise I was calling her name.

"Kaidan?" she answered suddenly, sounding frantic and disordered, "How—how did you…?" To my relief, the alert on my omnitool switched from red to orange. Good. She was still in danger, still freaking out, but at least she knew who _I_ was, and that had been enough to shunt her a little closer to reality.

"Yeah, it's me," I replied, forcing my voice to sound level, as though nothing at all was wrong, "what's your status?"

"My _status_? Are you- for fuck's sake, Kaidan, my status is that I'm climbing through a fucking debris field and I'm getting caught in a _hell_ of a lot of crossfire!"

_And you're also Commander Shepard,_ I thought reluctantly, _and you probably know that this is affecting you far more than it should be._

"That's all?" I asked calmly, picturing the way her sharp brows would twitch together in confusion before crashing down irritably, but at least if she was angry she wouldn't be scared. Sure enough, her stress levels dipped before my eyes.

"That _all_?" she fumed, "Well I'm also stuck on the wrong _fucking_ side of the break and the tube's ripping apart, so—"

"What do you mean the wrong side?" Around her, I watched as the war for Rannoch continued on, indifferent to our mission or her predicament. The blasts from both sides' guns were getting far too close for my liking.

"I'm…I'm on the side of the geth dreadnought," she said, uncertainty creeping back into her voice and making me _terrified_ for her, "you guys can't get to me through this tube, I'll need to open another one."

"Can you get to the dreadnought? Can you get to the doors?" I wanted to ask if she thought she could continue with the actual mission or if she wanted someone else to take over, but I knew she'd balk at the suggestion that this little slipup meant she'd be any less effective on the ground. I knew that, in her head, this was nothing, even if every sensor in her body told a very different story. Stress was still screaming at me from the display, the kind of stress that made regular people shut down inside, and if had been literally _anyone _else I'd have ordered them back. But Shepard wasn't like anyone else.

"I can see them, but I…I don't know if I can get there." The words were forced out, and I could picture her now, face screwed up in frustration at the things her fear-frozen body wouldn't let her do, the helplessness that came with sudden, all-consuming trauma. It would be okay, I told myself. On the ground, Shepard could do anything. I'd seen her leap from rooftop to rooftop, tackle creatures five times her size, pull off things that most people could never _imagine _were possible. She could do this too. She just needed to remember that.

"What's in your way?" I pretended I was talking a Private through a simple procedure, nothing to get worried about, and hoped that some of my composure would rub off on her.

She sighed sharply, "It's not _that_, it's—"

"Are you on your feet? Are your magboots working?"

"No. I'm…I'm holding on to part of the cables, but my grip's just…I'm slipping. I'm on the outside," I heard the panic rising in her voice and something twisted inside me, the overwhelming urge to just reach out and pull her inside somehow, make it so she'd never be in harm's way ever again, "I got pushed off, and—"

"It's okay," I said again, to reassure myself as much as her, "if you're still holding on to something you'll be fine. Your suit levels are good, you can pretty much stay there for ten more hours if you have to, don't worry." _This isn't like last time. I won't leave you. I won't let you die._ "We're right here, Shepard." _I'm right here, Jena._

"I'm not—_shit_!" her adrenaline spiked before my eyes, and from the window I saw that another bit of debris had slammed into the tube, making it sway wildly where it had been broken apart.

All thoughts of composure flew out of my head, "Shepard? _Jena?_" _Please be okay. Please be_—

"That fucking _thing_ almost took me out!" she snarled, making me deflate with relief. As long as I could hear her voice, I'd know she was okay. She'd be okay. She'd have to be. I couldn't have found her just to lose her again.

"Are you still hanging on?" I asked urgently, using the tone I reserved for commanding troops on the woman that had once been my Commander.

"Yeah, but _barely_, I—"

"Get inside the tube," I ordered, "do it _now_, get your legs inside, do whatever it takes."

"I'm…I can't…"

"Are you hearing yourself?" I barked, "Of _course_ you can, now _do_ it."

Suddenly I heard her grunt with effort, then wheeze as though she'd been punched in the gut. "_Got_ it!" she breathed, her voice strained, "Okay, I'll…I think I can climb through. Just…just don't go anywhere." That last part made me feel warm inside, that voice of hers that she only used when we were alone, the one I'd missed for years that that said she trusted me enough to be vulnerable, just for a moment.

"I won't," I promised, finding that I was smiling now I knew that, even though she hadn't yet started her mission, she was something close to safe. "What's the view like?" I asked after a while.

"Are you kidding me?" there was a note of manic laughter in her voice, and though her stress levels were still high, they were slowly dropping, "Shit's blowing up everywhere I look," she gasped again, and I imagined her climbing through swaying wreckage to get a decent footing, "and I'm pretty sure the geth are going to see us any second now, so…"

"Can you see Rannoch?" I could see it, just behind the dreadnought, but a view from actual space was always better than from behind a window. Nothing looked real from where I was standing, not even the situation unfolding in front of me in total silence.

"I…wait, yeah," she said slowly, and I watched as her heart rate slipped just below the safe threshold, her stress levels soon following, "I can. It's…very _blue_."

I smirked, "_Blue_, huh?"

"Yeah, blue. And purple. It better be pretty damn interesting on the ground," I could hear the scowl in her voice, "I've gone through too much shit to save this place."

"Think we'll get to go planetside?" I swallowed the last of the sudden adrenaline that had shot through my body, and was amazed to find I still felt on edge. I was pretty damn good at keeping a level head, all things considered, but it was hard as hell to stay composed when Jena's life was on the line. Hearing fear in her voice was something I _never_ wanted to get used to.

"Yeah," she huffed, no doubt still scrambling over debris, "We damn well better. I'm not liberating this place unless I get to say I've stood on the surface. Those should be my terms for saving _any_ planet. Garrus definitely owes me a trip to Palaven by now. That, or some kind of statue."

I chuckled, both at the thought and the fact that she was now calm enough to joke around. She was still uneasy, that much was clear, but now that she'd managed to get inside something solid her vitals were looking much more healthy.

"How are you doing?"

"Almost there," she breathed, "but this thing is mangled to hell."

"Want me to come across with Tali?" I asked, already knowing the answer, "I can be suited up in ten."

"You sit tight," she replied reassuringly, "go to the War Room or something, keep the Admiralty board in check. I'll be fine."

The man in me was relieved that she thought so, but the Major in me insisted she'd been frozen with a flash of past trauma just a few minutes ago. This mission had to work. She had to be at the top of her game. "You're sure?"

"I'm _fine_, Alenko," she insisted, "I just got a little…you know, _flustered_."

"_You_ don't get flustered, Shepard," I said quietly, hating that I was doubting her but knowing I'd be the only one who would dare to say anything, "not on missions, anyway."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure I'm the only person who knows what it's like to remember _dying_," she snapped irritably, "so if that doesn't get me a free pass once in a while, I don't know _what_ will."

That, I thought, was a damn good point. "So it _was_ a flashback?"

"I…yeah," she breathed, "I think so. Soon as I felt the explosion, in my head I was just…_there_ again. Craziest fucking thing." She paused, huffing as she moved through the tube, and suddenly something occurred to her, "Wait, what do you mean, _it_?"

"I'm tracking your vitals," I replied, thinking it should have been obvious that I'd be looking out for her, "EDI told me there was some unusual brain activity so I told her to put me through to you. Figured I could get you back down to Earth, so to speak."

She barked a sarcastic laugh, "I think my body just remembered what happened the _last_ time I took a spacewalk in a warzone. I don't think it enjoyed that whole episode."

"It's not _like_ last time," I said again, "we're all still here. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," she replied, her voice quiet and hoarse, a seriousness there that I knew was just for me, "I know. Thanks."

I watched her vitals as they descended into a zone of calm, the same levels of perfect focus and concentration that Shepard always had during missions. I should never have been worried. Her personal life was one thing, but Shepard knew _exactly_ what she was doing when it came to missions. She'd been doing it since I was still in _high school_, and was more comfortable on a battlefield than almost anywhere else. I should have known from the start that she'd have been fine. Later, I knew, she'd call me an idiot for ever being worried and she'd try to forget that she'd ever frozen up to begin with.

And then I'd tell her that PTSD wasn't something you could just _will_ away, and she'd snap and tell me she wasn't traumatised, not even close, and that it was just a tiny little slipup, nothing to be concerned about, but I'd know it wasn't true. And because I loved her and hated pushing her further, I'd try to forget too, but the sound of her voice cracking with panic would still keep me up at night. That was okay, though. As long as _she_ was still sleeping.

"I'm there," she said suddenly, that familiar steel back in her voice, "I'm at the entrance, I've just got to…_ugh_…okay, I'm through."

"You okay?" I asked, not because I didn't know, but because I needed to hear her actually _say_ it so I could breathe easy again.

"I'm…yeah. Better now." She cleared her throat as though she were purging her mind of her earlier slipup, and when she spoke again, Jena was gone and in her place was Commander Shepard, Alliance commando, the woman who I knew would plough through this mission like it was nothing. "Patch the others back through."

"Affirmative," I replied, doing just that, "See you on the other side."

It was a throwaway line, the kind of thing I'd have said before any mission like this, because why _wouldn't_ I have seen her? Shepard _always_ got the job done, no matter what, and over the years she'd picked up more than a few tricks to help her stay alive. But then things had taken a dark turn, and there was a moment when those very words had felt like the kind of thing I'd regret saying for the rest of my life.

I'd been listening in on their mission, following their progress as they tore through the dreadnought, and Shepard was, as ever, unstoppable. She was _good_ at killing geth, and the years since we'd hunted Saren had only made her faster and stronger. With EDI and Tali right behind her, she'd charge through their front lines and tear them to shreds, barely stopping for breath, taking out their troops like it was what she'd been _made _for. But then…then she'd done exactly what had been asked of her. She'd done _more_, in fact – the Reaper signal was disabled, the geth fleet was crippled, and she'd given them a perfect opportunity to pull their civilian ships away, saving thousands of lives. And the quarians had just…changed their minds. Gerral had given the traitorous order to fire on the geth dreadnought while she was _still inside_, and now it was all I could do to keep myself in check as I _ordered _him as an Alliance Major and a Spectre to _stand the fuck down_.

But he wasn't listening. It was like a nightmare, where you shout and shout but nothing happens. They weren't scared of me like they were of her, and behind his mask I couldn't even tell what Gerral was thinking. The other admirals were looking between the two of us anxiously, the Alliance soldiers doing the same, but I didn't care about them or what they thought, I just cared about making this _end_. Joker was over the intercom with Garrus by his side demanding to know what the _hell_ was going on, because from the observation ports all we could see was the quarian fleet breaking apart the defenceless geth dreadnought like it was nothing, and with every shot they landed pure, icy _fear_ shot through me as the thought came again and again that she was going to die, _just like before_ as her ship was torn to shreds, only this time I would have to _watch_ it happen.

"I'm not _asking_," I snarled, turning to the Admiral, "I'm _telling_ you to take back the order. Now."

"You need to step _back_," Gerral replied sharply, even as he backed away and I kept advancing towards him. The other admirals were motionless, every eye in the room following us. Shepard's comm link was blocked, some kind of interference, and all I could picture was her sprinting through the broken ship, desperately searching for a way out, knowing every second that the last time she'd been in a similar situation she'd _died_. All I wanted was to end this goddamn day by holding her in my arms, knowing she was safe. That was _all_.

"_You_ need to tell your fleets to standdown until Shepard and the others are _off_ that dreadnought!"

"We can't waste this opportunity," he insisted, nothing but blind ambition in his voice, "we can't—"

"You can't let them _die_!" I yelled, hearing the blood roaring in my ears, "Tali is on that ship too, _and_ EDI, and Shepard has done more for the quarians than-"

"Retaking our home world is worth _any_ sacrifice," he shot back, his voice quivering but strong, as though he would happily die in their place. Well, a dark part of me thought, if that was what he wanted...

"It's not worth _this_!" I threw an arm out to gesture at the ship, still being pounded by huge guns from all angles, "I don't _care _what you want, you started this war and you will_ not_ sacrifice them to end it! Now tell your ships to hold their fire because I swear if _anything_ happens to her, I'll-"

The words died in my throat as blinding lights filled the room through the observation window. I turned, the breath frozen in my lungs, and watched as the dreadnought ripped itself to shreds from the inside out. Debris flew from the wreckage, the blast knocking back the ships around it, and all I could do was stare at it in total, uncomprehending _horror_ as the woman I loved, the one I'd only just found again...was gone.

The thought didn't make any sense. Even as something twisted and clenched at my heart, even as I saw it happening, I couldn't understand how _any _of it made sense. It couldn't be real. But it was _there_, right in front of me, and at once furious, white-hot adrenaline shot out to every inch of my skin, lighting me up.

I turned to Admiral Gerral with total murder in my wide, frantic eyes, and realised, clear and sharp, that I was going to kill him. It wasn't even a _choice_ in my head. I held back the screaming black wave of grief with the thought of revenge, felt biotic fire crawling over my skin, and I could hear Liara shouting, calling my name, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything but the fact that she was gone, she'd been _killed_, and I was standing in front of the man that had made it happen. The admiral was backing off, sensing what was going through my head, but not fast enough. I clenched my fist and felt all the power in my body rush to that one point. I didn't care about what this would do, or that it wouldn't bring her back. I didn't care about the war, about diplomacy, any of that. I would _kill_ him.

"She...rd...t...mandy!" a voice crackled over the main channel, and, as one, the room turned towards the console, a moment frozen in time, "Shepa...to Normandy! Co...in!"

The technician at the console snapped out of her shock and put the transmission through, her eyes apprehensive as she stole glances up at me, "Go ahead, Commander."

"We're in...th fighter!...epeat, a _geth fighter!_ Do _not_ engage, EDI's tracking us, we'll be there soon. If a _single_ quarian ship fires on me I swear to g..." The transmission fizzled out, but it was all I needed. The realisation hit me like a blow to the gut.

She was alive. She was okay. I hadn't lost her again. It was all..._okay_.

My legs felt weak with relief. I felt I could have been knocked over by the slightest breeze, but Gerral was still staring at me with his hands clutched in terror at the railing behind him, and the other Admirals were still looking on in shock. Suddenly, I realised that I'd been about to murder a man in cold blood, and I'd barely even _thought _about it. That wasn't like me. It wasn't like me at _all._ Even though I was a Spectre, even though he'd basically signed her death warrant, I wasn't a goddamn _murderer_. I lowered my arm, let my biotics recede, and fixed the admiral with a steely gaze to hide the shame I felt washing over me.

"Looks like it's your lucky day," I seethed between clenched teeth. With every eye on the room fixed on my back, I turned and left the room with brisk, purposeful strides, as though I would have been well within my rights to kill him and not just acting on grief-blind revenge. I barely registered it when EDI's voice came over the Normandy's intercom to tell the ship that the shore party had returned. I got into the elevator and only realised when I pressed the lowest button that my hands were shaking with sudden adrenaline withdrawal.

For a moment I'd lost her. I'd _felt_ it all over again, the terror, the helplessness, the real, physical _pain_ of losing the thing I cared about the most in the world. But it was okay, I thought again. It hadn't happened. False alarm. Even though I could still feel the stale fear crawling over my skin, the fear that had turned to _rage_ as soon as the dreadnought had been torn apart. Shepard hadn't been the only one permanently marked by that day above Alchera.

I felt ashamed, but with that shame came the certain knowledge that I'd have happily killed him ten times over if that was what it would have taken to keep her safe.

The war had changed us all.

The elevator doors swished open, and in front of me was Jena, still in her armour but without her helmet, and she looked _furious_. And beautiful. And alive. She stood there, her breaths coming heavy and fast, her brows low and her face hard, as though she didn't know what to do. And then in a heartbeat she took a step forward and I pulled her roughly into my arms, holding her tight and burying my face in the tangled mess of her hair, kissing her head just to convince myself she was alive, breathing in the sweat and smoke of her skin with the notes of vanilla lurking just beneath. She held me loosely, her armour hard and thick, but when I pulled back to look her over, I realised she had been just as shaken up as I was.

"I'm okay," she said quietly, nodding hastily as though to reassure me, "I'm...okay." I looked into her brilliant amber eyes and something told me that this wasn't just a Spectre's bravado, or her brushing off my concern. As she jabbed at the button on the elevator and took a long, deep breath, I knew that she was making a real, concentrated effort to share herself with me, to be _honest_. And right now she was telling me that even though it had been close, even though she was still shaken, she was alive and it was enough. The Commander I knew before would have shouted over her fear, pushed everyone aside, but Jena was letting me in. Suddenly her armoured hands grasped the sides of my head and she pulled me down for an urgent kiss, pressing her face hard against mine even as her mouth opened desperately, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

We parted, and I relished the feeling of her dirt-smeared cheek against mine. "You're okay," I echoed, more for myself than for her.

"Better now," she whispered, her gloved fingers coarse and cold against my skin. I wanted to take them into my own hands and kiss them, armour or no, but professionalism took over as soon as the doors opened in front of the CIC. I watched her swallow, raise her chin, and a mask of pure, stony rage settled over her face. She marched to the War Room, sentries parting in front of her like blades of grass before a hurricane, and I followed close behind.

I stood in the corner, pitiless and silent, as she yelled at the admiral, as she interrupted his bullshit justification with a blow to the gut and told him to get the _hell_ off her ship. There was a way about her when she was so angry, where her eyes would flash a darker colour, her scars would burn, she'd suddenly grow three feet taller and you'd truly _understand_ why she was feared and respected throughout the galaxy. It was what let her turn from his retreating figure to the rest of the Admirals and fix them with a look that said there would be no more _bullshit _on her ship today. I watched in admiration as she did what Commander Shepard always did – look around the room and demand that everyone else live up to her own impossibly high standards. And, as usual, it _worked_. Reluctantly, they agreed to her terms. Even a goddamn _geth_ walking into the room and talking was something she explained away like you'd be an idiot to make a big deal about it. By the end of the discussion she had the Admirals wrapped around her little finger. I wondered how much of it was their guilt for almost having her killed. I wondered how much of it was her shock and betrayal at almost being blown to pieces by her own side while on _their _mission.

We parted then, as she had to report to Hackett and I had to pretend the only thing on my mind wasn't still her safety. Liara had given me a long, meaningful look as I passed by, but I ignored it. I'd chalk it all up to adrenaline, to fear or something. I'd been so convinced she was dead. _Anyone_ would have reacted like that, right?

I knew it had been wrong. That was the important thing, I thought as I massaged my forehead where I could feel another headache spiking into life. That, and knowing she was safe. If she _hadn't_ come back, if it had all gone to hell and he'd sent her to die…

Well. It didn't bear thinking about.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

The first time I went for the clasp on my shoulder, my fingers slipped and it stayed firmly shut. Gritting my teeth in irritation, I twisted my neck to glare at the point where the two main parts of my chestplate joined together, and when I tried to undo it again, I realised my fingers were stiff and useless, like they'd been frozen solid. Moments like this, I was sure I could feel the cold metal that Cerberus had woven through my bones.

I took a few seconds to close my eyes, sighed heavily, and tried again. The clasp fell open with ease, and the other one soon followed. When my chestplate fell from my ribs, I thought it would be easier to breathe, but the air still felt tight and heavy as I sucked it into my lungs, like there was a boot on my breastbone. When I closed my eyes again, I could feel the moment of panic rise up inside me once more, the point at which I'd been balancing on the edge of a knife, with my commando training on one side and blind terror on the other, and, _somehow_, I'd fallen the wrong way. As soon as I'd been blown from the tube into actual space, it had flooded back at once – the helplessness, the feeling of clawing manically at my helmet as all the oxygen leaked out, the point three years ago when I'd realised with cold, heart-stopping certainty that I was going to _die_ and all my training and strength and speed was for _nothing._

I'd come back, but I'd never truly come to terms with what had happened to me. I'd never stopped being just a little _terrified_ of dying again, alone and afraid in the great big black. I'd felt helpless before, but never as helpless as I'd felt in the seconds before the spots in front of my eyes had eclipsed everything else and I'd been snuffed out.

Even though I told myself it was all fine, I couldn't stop my hands from shaking as the adrenaline from the mission drained away, leaving only the harrowing memory of what had happened today. It wasn't just that I had almost died _twice_ – that was standard fare for N7s – it was because I'd discovered that this, right here, was another weakness, another thing that told me I wasn't invulnerable and unshakeable no matter what I or anyone else thought.

The flashback to my own death – a _novel_ experience, to say the least – had taken me by surprise. It had made the fear that clenched hold of my throat and wouldn't let go so much harder to overcome later, as we fled from the explosions tearing apart the dreadnought, when I'd _yelled_ into my comm link and begged them to just _listen_ to me. It was a different kind of fear than what I'd already learned to overcome. This was the kind I couldn't do anything about. At least with an enemy in front of me I could fight back, but when my own side were shooting at me and I was running through an enemy ship and I didn't know if I was running to an exit or further into hell, it was…different. Frightening. I hadn't been frightened in a long time. At least not while I had my armour on and a gun in my hand.

As I began to place the pieces of my armour into their case, I thought back to the explosion on the tube, and I wondered how the hell I would have got through that mission if Kaidan hadn't been on the other end of the line. _Obviously_ I'd have made it to the geth ship. I'd have swallowed the panic, got back into that perfect, focused headspace, and I'd have finished the mission, with or without him, because that was what I _did_. But…part of me knew that things weren't actually that simple. The part of me that was becoming increasingly aware of my own limitations was insisting that his soft, familiar voice had been the only reason I was able to truly _forget_ about the flashback for the remainder of the mission instead of just locking it up like a wild animal thrashing against a cage, threatening to break out at a moment's notice. And later, when we'd escaped with seconds to spare and my heart was still pounding furiously and my adrenaline had been high and hot, even when we were back on the Normandy, I didn't feel truly safe until I saw him again. Until I'd stepped into the shelter of his arms and felt at peace.

Everyone longed for safety, for a way to feel like _nothing_ could harm them. In a job like mine, something like that was hard to come by. But I'd managed it all the same, and what I had was _perfect_. I wasn't letting it go. Not ever.

I didn't hear my doors open, but when I looked up to put my armguards away I saw Kaidan standing there, hands by his sides, staring at me as though if he actually reached out, if he asked for more than just to look, I'd shatter into pieces. In encouragement, I gave him the barest of smiles, and he moved over to me, eyes subtly checking over my body to make sure I was indeed still firmly stuck together.

He'd calmed down from before, I could tell. When I'd first come on board, I could sense every one of his muscles tensing up in anger and fear and _betrayal_, I smelled the eezo on his skin that told me he'd been using his biotics, but it wasn't until Liara pulled me aside after I'd given my report that I knew why. I felt bad for him, having to believe for those few moments that I was dead and not being able to do a thing about it. If our positions had been reversed, I'd have no doubt turned painted the War Room _red _with my fury. Liara had been concerned at how fast he'd jumped to revenge, and that she hadn't been sure she'd be able to stop him. I'd explained to her that he'd no doubt thought I'd been killed, and she'd looked at me as though she hadn't even considered that. Even though she'd _seen_ my dead body, she still thought I was invincible. She still thought there was no way I could die _twice_.

I knew better.

"I'm still okay," I said as he approached, his brow furrowed in worry.

"I know," he shrugged, a little self-conscious about the fact that I could apparently read his mind, "I just...it was close, that's all. Too close." Wordlessly, he reached for the mechanism at the base of my spine and began to unclip portions of my armour, a job not normally reserved for Alliance Majors, but seeing as I didn't want to face anyone else right now I was all too happy to let him do it. "But I don't have to tell you that."

"It'll get only closer, you know," I said quietly as I watched him work, my arms out of the way, "_Everything_. It'll only get worse."

"Yeah," he placed the thick metal belt lovingly in its case, "but I don't intend to just sit back and watch next time. Not if I can help it."

"You can come tomorrow if you want," I shrugged, having fully intended to bring him along anyway, for my own comfort as well as his. It wasn't that I expected anything _like _what happened today to happen again, especially seeing as we were going planetside, it was that, when he wasn't fighting alongside me, I missed him. Not for his company, but for his abilities. No one else could work with me _quite_ as well as Kaidan could, and now that the air had cleared between us, I wanted to see what exactly we were capable of together.

"Sounds like a plan," he smirked, no doubt to take my mind off things, "Think Rannoch is nicer than Tuchanka?"

"Apparently it's more or less like the hotter parts of Earth," I said absently, "but at least they have trees and shit." I looked down at him fiddling with the clasps on my thigh and sighed, the urge to actually _talk_ welling up inside me, but a lifetime of holding it all in made the words come out haltingly and mixed-up. "I don't know," I started softly, causing him to glance up at once, as though he could sense something was wrong, "I just...the thing with the tube earlier, and then when they fired on the ship…it...shook me up. More than it should have. I'm still a little..."

"You almost died twice today, Jena" he said tenderly, using that low, smooth voice of his that still made heat bloom through my entire body, "it's okay to be a little shaken up."

"Yeah, but..." I hopped up on my desk as he helped me out of the long boots of my armour, "like you said, I shouldn't _get_ shaken up, not on a mission, not when I've been doing this my whole life. Something like this shouldn't have affected me. It was-"

"It's not _nothing_," he interrupted, contradicting me even before I'd said the words. His eyes were fierce, intense, and it me _again_ how much worse it must have been for him to stand there, helplesss, and watch it all happen, just like last time, "Those were _not_ acceptable parameters for a mission, if we weren't in the middle of a war we could put Admiral Gerral on trial and I _know_ the Council would back you up. And the thing before..." he shrugged at me helplessly, "you _died_ in space. That would leave a hell of a scar on anyone, and you're the only one that's ever come back. You had no way to know you'd react like that," I opened my mouth to rebut him again, but he wasn't finished, "Look, I get that you won't accept anything less than perfection, but...from where I'm standing you're pretty damn perfect already. And...really, I'm just glad you came back alive." His eyes searched my face, making sure I was taking it all in instead of just waiting for my turn to speak and rebut it all. "Okay?"

_Stop beating yourself up, _I scolded myself in his voice,_ You've already gone above and beyond. No one can say you're giving it any less than your best, and _your _best is the best there is._

"Okay," I echoed, and for a long moment he simply looked at me, right into my soul, and all I saw in his eyes was how scared he'd been that I could get hurt. There had been a time when I'd brush off this concern of his as stupid, needless, but above everything this war had made me realise that I wasn't superhuman, and that taking comfort where I could didn't make me weak. Part of me wanted to apologise for some reason, say sorry for being who I was and for having the kind of life and obligations that would see him get scared again and again, but I knew he'd tell me that I was missing the point of being _with_ someone. The good _and_ the bad, he'd said. Today was just another mark in the 'bad' column.

He broke eye contact to remove the last piece of my armour, easing the boot from my foot with far more care than I ever showed myself.

"You know," I started hesistantly, "If I realised how I'd have reacted, I would have got someone else to go through to the dreadnought first. I'd have…asked for help." The words felt thick in my throat and I had to force them out, but as soon as they hung in the air I felt better. Lighter. I remembered his words from years ago when Ashley died, when he told me that I had to trust that other people could make the same decisions and sacrifices as _I_ could, and that insisting on doing everything myself wasn't being stubborn about my own brilliance, it was just being stupid.

I still didn't trust that anyone else would have been able to deal with the tube ripping in half as I had, even _with_ my sudden psychotic meltdown. But maybe I just had a low opinion of anyone who wasn't _me_.

He nodded slowly, "Good. No one expects you to win this thing on your own, you know. No one _here_, anyway."

He reached up and eased the thin band back from my matted hair, and at once the pressure around my temples was alleviated. Apparently not caring that my hair was disgusting, he ran his knuckles tenderly over the flyaway strands, and I let my eyes fall shut as I leaned into his touch, savouring the moment.

Standing there in my undersuit, I felt sticky and sweaty and _prickly_ with the comedown from the mission, but when I opened my eyes again all I saw was him staring back at me like I was the most precious thing in the world. I didn't know how it would be possible, but I hoped I had the power to make him feel just _half_ as important and wanted and treasured as I felt at that moment.

"Thank you," I whispered, reaching up to cup his face and run my fingers over the arch of his cheekbone. I didn't know why I was thanking him; I just…had to say it. Just so he'd have the tiniest idea of what it meant to me that he'd been waiting at the end of the day, and to know that he'd be right there beside me tomorrow. He smiled down at me, the corners of his eyes creasing in a way I found hopelessly endearing, and I smiled in response because I just couldn't help it. I wanted to bottle that feeling, put it in a box and take it out when I was at my lowest. And, once again, I realised that I already had _exactly_ that – and he was standing right in front of me.

After a while, he smirked mischievously, "You've still got a little…uh…" he brought up a hand and rubbed at the side of my jaw with his thumb, and when he pulled back I noticed there was a streak of black on his finger where he'd touched me. No doubt I was filthy from where I'd gone directly from the mission to the debriefing and my report without taking a moment to get cleaned up. This, right here, was the first moment of peace I'd had, and it didn't have to end until the morning. I grinned in response, eyes twinkling, and pulled his arms around my waist as I guided his hand to the fastenings at the back of my skintight undersuit. I knew _exactly_ what I needed to purge the day from my mind.

I jerked my head towards the open door of my bathroom as I leaned closer to him. "Wanna help me clean up?" I purred, not even waiting for an answer as I arched up on the tips of my toes to kiss him, full and deep. I felt his hands flattening against my body, pulling me closer, sliding under the folds of my undersuit as he peeled it away from my skin. My fingers fell to his belt and unhooked it with ease before I wrenched the shirt of his fatigues apart. As our clothes fell to the floor and we moved, fumbling, towards the shower, I felt the worries of the day fall away with them.

As long as I had him, I thought, I could face _anything_ the galaxy had to throw at me.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

Watching it the second time around was much, much easier. The first time it had been happening right in front of me, and some impulse had made me raise my omnitool to record the entire thing, even as I'd clenched my other hand into a fist to hold the biotic barrier around her steady. I remembered thinking to myself that if she pulled it off, this recording could be the morale boost the troops across the galaxy sorely needed. I remembered forcing myself _not_ to think about the fact that I was watching her being attacked by a full-sized Reaper, or that, if she _didn't_ pull it off, I'd have a permanent record of the moment I watched the woman I loved die.

It was tough, being in love with Commander Shepard. Bad for my peace of mind. I'd been tested too many times in the last few days, and it had worn me down.

But there were upsides, moments like _this_ when the battle had been won and we were flying back to the Citadel, and almost everyone on the ship was in the port observation room with a drink in their hand, watching those heart-stopping minutes unfold on the screen that had rolled down from the ceiling.

We all watched, in awed silence, as she leapt from side to side, luring the hulking great creature closer, sprinting across the top of the cliff, digging her heels in as she fired a blast from that huge gun and an answering shot came from the Normandy in orbit. I noticed, amused, that her profanity-ridden taunts and shouts of triumph had been edited out of the final report. There were so many close calls, so many moments where she'd stared the Reaper down, looked straight into the red beam of its eye, and hurled herself out of the way just in time as its blast tore up the earth. Finally, though, with the Reaper coming ever closer, with its beam warming up for a blow that would destroy the ground she stood on, she got one _flawless_ shot, the aim was locked, and the insides of the Reaper erupted into flame.

No one made a sound as we watched the video, watched her getting to her feet, brushing off the dust from where she was knocked back, and in that one perfect moment she turned around, the wind caught her hair and blew it back, her gun was raised in triumph, and the bright sun of a newly liberated planet was shining bright behind her as the blue barrier fizzled away. She was beautiful, and when I saw that one frame I thought to myself _this right here is the image that will win the war. The greatest hero the galaxy has ever known, standing over the corpse of a Reaper._

People thought they were gods, claimed there was no _way_ we could defeat them, but gods didn't die like that. Gods weren't bested by one woman with a great big gun.

The silence was broken when the image on screen was replaced by Diana Allers and the ANN logo. She was giving us a preview of her latest report on what had happened on Rannoch, but no one cared much about her take on the events we'd all seen unfold for ourselves. All they cared about was the fact that the person in the video – the hero of the Alliance – was their Commander, and at once a cheer erupted from every corner of the room.

People would never stop being astonished by the incredible things Shepard could do. I hoped I wouldn't either. I hoped I'd never forget that the woman by my side was in a league of her own. I wanted to sling my arm over her shoulders and drop a kiss on her temple, tell her I was so, so proud to be with her, but, of course, we were far from alone, and though frat regs weren't as strict as on the first Normandy, we were still doing our best to keep it _mostly_ a secret. At least for now. It was hard, though, when she was sitting right next to me, slouched casually at the end of the couch with one leg curled up, knee just brushing against my thigh. As the applause died down and all eyes rested on her, she shifted up and sat on the arm of the couch so she could see everyone right back, as though she were about to make some kind of deep and important speech.

"Killing Reapers is thirsty work," she said to the room at large, a smirk on her face like it was something she did every damn day, "so who's getting me a drink?" A chorus of answers met her, and inside of twenty seconds James had deposited a bottle of beer in her waiting hand.

It made me feel warm to see her like this, as though we weren't in the middle of a war. We both had to live with the assumption that this would all work out okay, _everyone_ had to think that, and tonight was like a tiny little preview of the celebrations that would shake the galaxy back into life as soon as the Reapers were defeated. One down, thousands to go. Tonight, at least, she could enjoy that small victory.

As we went our separate ways around the room, I couldn't help but glance at her from the corner of my eye when I thought I could get away with it. Even now, while I was deep in conversation with two young biotics who spent their days guarding the back rooms of the Normandy, I saw her talking to Diana Allers, her stance and expression relaxed and informal. After I'd seen her snap at the reporter, the two of them had reached a sort of mutual understanding, and now their relationship was working well. ANN dominated what few airwaves still existed, and all around the galaxy people _knew_ who we were, and they thought we were heroes. I supposed, especially after today, they were right. In the darkest places, the Normandy and its Commander had become the light, the hope that people spoke about, a legend that they prayed would save _everyone_. As long as the Normandy still existed, as long as Commander Shepard and her crew were still fighting, everyone in the galaxy would know we had a hope, however small, of winning this war. At a time like this, a tiny spark of hope was all that was needed.

Allers nodded with a thankful smile on her face and wandered over to the screen still showing her report on repeat. It was then that Jena turned absent-mindedly, beer in hand, and caught my eye. She gave me a smile then, a _real_ one, and it went all the way to her eyes, and it was just for me, and, as always, is was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. In one twitch of her lips she'd made everyone else in the crowded room fade to grey, and all I could see was _her_, the Commander, the Spectre, the _legend_, and the woman I'd cradled in my arms that very morning.

_I am so, so in love with you_, I thought simply, _I've never stopped being in love with you. And just when I think that I couldn't possibly fall any _more_ in love with you, you go ahead and prove me wrong._

It _was_ tough, being in love with Commander Shepard. No one else thought she was mortal, not _really_. They all assumed she knew exactly what she was doing, that she was perfectly focused, but I'd seen her at her worst, and I knew better. That didn't mean she wasn't one of the most capable people ever to take command, but no one was infallible, not even her. The weight of the galaxy was on her shoulders, and everyone knew it. Her shoulders may have been strong – hell, they were reinforced with _metal_ – but they were still small, and still human. I'd promised myself that I'd share the load, but there were some things I knew she couldn't share, not even with me. At least now, being a Spectre, I could help out where I could. I'd always been better at the _official_ side of things, and it hadn't been hard for me to take over most of her obligations in terms of reports, requisitions, and all the other bits and pieces that only needed the bare minimum of her input. That way, she could keep doing what she did best – like killing Reapers and getting _perfect_ propaganda shots in the process – and I could pave the way.

Still, it wasn't easy to watch her work. _Incredible_, perhaps, but not easy. That was why there were regs against fraternisation. That was why starting any kind of serious relationship within the same army – let alone on the same damn ship – was a stupid idea. I was getting better at swallowing my fear and not letting on that it was terrifying to watch her when I couldn't help. I'd barely made a sound when she'd climbed into that machine and linked her consciousness to the geth, even though I'd wanted to shout that the whole plan was nothing short of _insane_. And when she'd told me, matter-of-factly, that she was going to _kill_ that Reaper, I hadn't asked her if she was sure, or if she needed help, I just told her that we'd be right there waiting. It had all been fine in the end, of course, but this was still just the beginning, and I knew it would only get worse. I knew this moment of peace was just a tiny little interlude before it all really hit the fan. But right here, right now, I just wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

"Major? Sir?"

I realised I'd been staring and snapped back to reality to see the two young soldiers who were now regarding me curiously, as though they didn't know if they'd done something wrong and didn't want to push it. Their names had flown clean out of my head.

"Huh? Sorry," I winced slightly, rubbing at my temple for impact as I nodded at the screen where Diana was talking over footage of Shepard, Garrus and I checking our weapons, "it's been a long day. What did you want to know?"

"Oh," one said, clearly buying that I was distracted by the report and not by the stunning woman standing just beside the screen, "It's not important, really, I just…"

"Go on, Private," I said encouragingly, and made a concentrated effort to listen and respond as she asked me about my implant. It had been troubling me more and more recently, but I didn't tell her that. I hadn't told _anyone_ that except for Chakwas, who for all her skill wasn't an expert in L2 biotics. She said it was likely overuse, and that I may have not fully recovered from my injury on Mars, but that I should get it checked out anyway. I knew I should have done, and that I should have swallowed my pride and gone back to Emily on the Citadel, but I didn't want to. It didn't seem fair to her, even though I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that something was definitely _wrong_. My headaches were getting worse. More frequent. More _intense_. I hadn't had an attack since I'd been back with Jena, so she had no reason to suspect anything was up, and of course I didn't want to worry her, but after the missions today I was sure I'd feel the pinch eventually. '_Today'_ didn't seem like the right word for it seeing as we'd first set foot on Rannoch just as the night cycle was starting, and now it was nearing dawn on the _next_ day, but time never felt real on a mission. And that wouldn't stop anyone from celebrating a job well done.

As the celebrations drew on, the evening began to wind down and the room began to empty of people. Some had shifts the next day, but most were simply overtired after almost two days on call. We were in transit, and EDI was flying – even though her body was still in deep conversation with Tali – but we still had to be ready for anything. Fighting tired never went well.

I'd been making an effort to avoid Shepard, and she was clearly doing the same, as a few drinks would be all it took for me to forget that we were supposed to be keeping the two of us a secret. And so, towards the end of the night, when I could feel the haze of exhaustion settling over my body, I found myself leaning against the bar, talking with Garrus, and marvelling that he was the same person as the rogue C-Sec agent who'd joined us three years ago just so he could impress the first human Spectre and help us catch Saren. I supposed I'd changed a lot too since the days of the SR-1. We all had.

The turian had been drinking, and it was obvious because I knew very well that when Garrus got drunk his voice became slow and somehow more _dramatic_, almost like it was a speech, or that every word that left his mouth was incredibly important. It was something I'd always found funny, a part of him that _hadn't_ changed over the years.

"Hell of a thing, taking down that Reaper," he said, the ridges above his eyes coming together in thought, words carefully enunciated, "It's a boost we sorely need – I just wish everyone fighting on their home planets could see that report."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," I swirled the half-full glass of whiskey in my hand, "nothing like a little propaganda to make soldiers forget their troubles."

"I guess it helps that Shepard's an attractive human woman, right?" I glanced up at him in surprise and he continued, gesturing with his strangely-labelled bottle, "I mean I'm just guessing here, I don't actually _know_, you humans all look basically the same to me, but she has a way of reeling people in. I'd have thought the scars would be an issue, seeing how smooth and delicate human skin usually is, but it doesn't seem to put anyone off." He shrugged, as though it were just a throwaway comment, "Maybe it's just her confidence – I know _that's_ what got me, right at the start. She just looked at me like I'd be a total idiot not to follow her, so, of course, I _did_. And here we are."

"She's, uh…" _she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, even with the scars and the scowls, but I don't care if anyone else sees it. I see it. Even now she's laughing, smirking, and that fire inside her is shining through her eyes and drawing in everyone around her. And somehow she's decided that I'm good enough for her to share all that fire with, and all I can do is think of how happy that makes me._ "…very charismatic," I said at last, "I mean in human terms she's attractive, sure, but it's the charisma that makes everyone love her, no doubt about that."

"Uh huh," Garrus deadpanned, "So is that what _you_ fell for?"

The sudden accusation took me by surprise, but even with the whiskey and exhaustion weighing me down I still managed to screw my face up in incredulity as I glanced up at him.

"_Me_? What—"

"I'm drunk, not stupid," he quipped, making it clear he wasn't buying the dumb act, "and you're not _nearly_ as subtle as you think."

I sighed, thinking of James in the cargo hold, and Liara in the War Room, and now Garrus all knowing what I thought I'd been hiding so well.

"Does _everyone_ know about us?" I mumbled in irritation, more with myself than with them. We'd promised not to let this get in the way of the mission, and the only way that could work was if we had no _option_ to bring it up on the ground because it was staying behind the closed doors of her cabin. I didn't want to be the one to fuck that up.

"So it's an _'us'_, now?" he said in reply, and until that moment I hadn't known it was _possible_ for a turian to smirk in triumph, "interesting."

I closed my eyes and let the feeling of being a total goddamn _idiot_ wash over me as I realised at once that I'd given it all away. Still, Garrus was hardly Alliance brass, and I knew he cared for her and her happiness just as much as anyone. He wouldn't make an issue out of it.

I let out a weary sigh, "I'm not very good at this, am I?"

"No," he smirked again, facing straight ahead even as one dark eye looked down at me, "but luckily your ability to bullshit isn't why they made you a Spectre."

I gave an amused huff in response as I tried to decide whether I should be annoyed by my inability to hide how I felt, or pleased, _proud_, because even now all I wanted to do was march over to where she sat, sink my hands into her hair and kiss her in front of everyone. Hiding like this felt like it was something to be ashamed of, handled with care as though it would shatter into pieces otherwise, but _this_ time around things were different. It wasn't like the arrangement we'd hammered out after Sovereign had been defeated. This time, it was serious, and we both knew it. I'd found her again, after everything, and I still wanted to tell the world, just so I could start to believe it myself. I couldn't wait for all of this to be over so I could walk out of the wreckage with her, hand in hand, and tell everyone watching that I was in love with the woman who had saved the galaxy.

"Don't feel _too_ bad, Alenko," Garrus went on, still sounding faintly amused and _definitely_ tipsy, "Shepard's holding up her end just fine. Hell, I only knew it was _mutual_ after Horizon."

Wait, _Horizon_? For the first time, I considered the idea she might have actually _spoken_ to someone about it, and that, obviously, the person she'd have spoken to would probably be Garrus. The only one she _knew_ she could trust aboard that ship full of Cerberus recruits. This felt like the kind of thing I shouldn't pry into, I _knew_ that – it was part of her life that she had kept private, and that was her decision. I didn't need to know how Garrus had found out, or what she'd said to him, _but_, the whiskey said enticingly, it didn't hurt to just _ask_.

"Why?" I stared down at my drink, casually swirling it in my hand and wondering why I hadn't touched it in a while, "what happened? Did she say something?"

He shrugged, "Nothing kind, but you know what she's like. If she didn't care, she wouldn't get angry, and _damn_ she was pissed off at you." There was amused affection in his voice, the kind of tone you'd reserve for revealing to a friend all the stupid, embarrassing things they'd done the night before while too drunk to think straight.

I finished what was left of my whiskey in one smooth swig, "Yeah," I sighed, "no kidding. I was…a total _idiot_." The less said about that, the better. We'd all made mistakes, and mine had nearly cost me the woman I loved. I'd thank my lucky stars every day that I'd had the chance to set things right.

"Hindsight is a fine thing," Garrus mused, looking thoughtful as he regarded the bottle in his hands with interest, "And you get something most people can't even hope for – a second chance."

"I'm not wasting it, that's for sure," I replied, my eyes automatically settling on Jena as she sat on the couch again, slumping on the armrest with half a drink still in her glass as she spoke with Specialist Traynor. She laughed at something Traynor said, but the laugh soon turned to a yawn, and I knew just by looking at her that she was barely keeping her eyes open.

It had been a _long_ few days. She'd lost a friend just a few hours ago, even if I didn't understand how she could have been friends with a _geth_, and many more had died in this sad, pointless war she'd somehow managed to resolve. It was just like on Tuchanka, I thought, where she'd put the conflicts of history to rest and gave them a world worth fighting for, but at a high cost. If we were to defeat the Reapers, we all needed something to fight for, something worth _dying_ for. I watched her shift, drawing her legs up onto the couch and leaning heavily on her arm, and I thought, absently, that I didn't have to look very far.

"Go on," Garrus said after a while, leaving his empty bottle on the bar, "get her to bed. No matter _what_ she thinks, she can't save the galaxy on a few hours' sleep."

I agreed, and as soon as Traynor left I went over to Jena and crouched down next to where she sat. Her eyes rose to mine, bleary but happy, and I bit back the smile I felt pulling at my lips.

"Hey," she murmured sleepily.

"Hey yourself," I replied, the corners of my mouth twitching up involuntarily, "You know, if you're not careful you'll end up sleeping down here, and I'm sure your bed's far more comfortable."

She breathed in a long stream of air as her arms rose like a flower opening to the sun and she stretched extravagantly, over-used joints popping with the effort. As she exhaled she sunk back into the couch, snatching up her drink and knocking it back like a pro.

"Okay," she said at last, eyelids drooping, "okay." I got to my feet as she pushed off the couch and stood up with far more effort than should have been necessary. Definitely time for her to sleep. Without another word she waved a vague goodnight to those still assembled, and my eyes followed her as she glided to the elevator. At least she was sleeping now, though it wasn't always restful. The first night we'd spent together had been fine, but during the last two I'd woken up to find her twitching, her eyes flickering wildly as she fought with something in her dreams. Both times I'd held her closer, whispered soothing words into her ear until she was calm again, but they still didn't seem like run of the mill nightmares. If she remembered the dreams, she didn't mention them. One of these days – when we weren't stealing sleep in between missions – I'd ask her, and after all that had happened she might even _tell_ me what she'd seen.

Later, I left the port observatory with every intention to go to my _actual_ room and give some credibility to the lie that I wasn't sleeping with the Commander. I'd also wanted to let her rest without my schedule waking her up, but Jena had other ideas, and I'd barely rounded the corner before my omnitool beeped insistently and a message from her sprung into view.

'_How the hell am I supposed to sleep if you're not here?'_ it demanded, '_Double time, Major.'_

Alone in the empty corridor, I grinned from ear to ear. She'd always been good at giving no-frills orders, and I's always been good at following them.

When the doors opened to her room I found it dark, with only the empty fish tank illuminating the clutter of everyday life strewn about the place. She was curled up in bed, a tiny figure in the centre of the sheets, and if I didn't know better I'd have assumed she was already sleeping. I undressed in silence, keeping my eyes on her peaceful face, wisps of hair falling gently against her cheek. As soon as I lifted the covers to slip in next to her she murmured something indecipherable, but the meaning was clear. Her warm hands skimmed over my ribs as she stretched sleepily over my body, wedging her head firmly in the valley just beneath my collarbone, and within moments I felt her entire form just _relax_ as she dipped into sleep.

Minutes passed, and I realised I was still staring down at her face, softly lit in glowing blue as though she herself were a biotic, and I still had the same stupid, sappy smile on my face. Sometimes, I wished all the people who thought she was nothing but a vicious, violent weapon could see her this way, just so they'd know how human Commander Shepard really was. Most of the time, though, I was happy to keep her all to myself. A part of my life that was _right here_, and that I could hold on to when everything else around me crumbled away.

"I love you," I said quietly, knowing she wouldn't hear but just needing to _say_ it because I didn't know how much longer I'd be able to keep it in, "I love you, Jena. And I'm never, _ever_ letting you go."

* * *

I can't believe this has almost got 100 reviews! Thanks so much for all your input, and for reading this far :)

**Chapter 28: Haunted – **For Shepard, the war is starting to look up, and with Kaidan's help she begins to imagine what life could be like if they actually _won_. But nothing stays buried for long, as a routine mission forces her to confront the demons of her past.


	28. Haunted I

**Okay, so I'm not very happy with this chapter because writing both of them was like pulling teeth, but I'm going away for a while and I've delayed enough, so here, have a super long chapter which I split into two halves! **

**Chapter 28: Haunted (I)**

_Shepard_

I heard a stifled grunt of pain right at the back of James's throat before he let loose a series of hissed Spanish profanities that lit up the huge, refurbished container we were both sat in.

"Man the fuck up, Vega," I said smugly, staring dead ahead, "your shoulder is like the _least_ painful place."

"I _know_ that," he growled, "did you miss the giant tattoo all over my _neck_?"

"I got my neck done when I was fourteen," I bragged, turning to him with my left arm still raised behind my head, "and I didn't make anything _near_ as big a fuss as you're making now."

He pursed his lips, "Hey, don't get pissy just 'cause I've got more delicate skin than you, Lola_._"

I snorted a laugh despite myself at the cheeky glint in his eye, and the batarian working on my skin grumbled in irritation as my ribs shook under his needle. Clearing my throat apologetically, I glanced down to see how the work was progressing and saw that he'd finished the outline of the stylised N7 logo and was working on the block colours. At least that meant my movement hadn't screwed anything up too badly. The logo would rest on my left side, just under a large, rounded scar left by Cerberus which was already closing up nicely.

We must have made a hell of a sight, the two of us in this shantytown, shirtless and careless and getting almost-matching tattoos in the middle of a war. People recognised me, I realised, because more than one passer-by had none-too-subtly snapped a quick shot of me and the Lieutenant as the batarian artists worked away, disinterested. If the batarians recognised me, they hadn't yet mentioned it. That was probably a good thing.

When James had suggested I come with him to get an N7 tattoo to celebrate his acceptance into the programme, I'd assumed he was joking, but the more I'd thought about it the more sense it had made. Nothing was certain in this war. No one knew if they were making it out alive. I had my service number tattooed on the back of my neck, and many more mementos scattered around my scarred body. What was one more? And I _liked_ James. I wanted the very best for him because _damn_ did he deserve it. At least this way, whatever happened to me in the future, he'd be able to say that not only did he serve with Commander Shepard, the legendary N7, but he'd been right there next to me when we got that prestigious logo inked on our skin. Tattoos themselves didn't matter as much as whatever it was that spurred you to get them in the first place. Having them 'touched up' by Cerberus after the originals were burnt away had made me think of my body art very differently.

"So where's the Major?" James asked in that '_I'm too damn smart for my own good and I'm going to pretend __that isn't obvious_' voice of his.

Where was the Major? Well, the last time I'd seen him I'd been kissing him goodbye as I slid out of the covers that very morning before we docked in the Citadel. It had been near impossible to leave him and the warmth of the bed we shared, but I didn't get many lie-ins these days. Not when everyone was on a different schedule and the Normandy's early morning was the Citadel's late afternoon and there were always, _always_ more meetings to grit my teeth through. My meetings and briefings had finished for the day, but Kaidan's were still going on. We'd had a half-baked plan to steal an hour for lunch in between, but he'd messaged me to say he'd be stuck for almost the rest of the day. So now, here I was, free as the birds etched on my wrist that were getting a new friend at this very moment.

"He's at the Spectre HQ," I said vaguely, "You know, picking up a few things, filing reports, boring shit like that."

"So how come he's there and you ain't?"

Because he's sitting in a meeting that I was supposed to attend, after he told me in no uncertain terms that this was one thing I didn't have to take personal responsibility for, especially as he'd had a few more hours sleep more than me. Part of me felt bad, seeing as he'd only gone to bed early because he'd felt the beginnings of a migraine, but if he said it was fine then I'd respect the ability of my fellow Spectre to cope with one extra meeting, and just…do what he'd said. Relax.

"Because I felt like getting inked," I replied with a one-shoulder shrug that wouldn't move my ribs.

"Well, glad you could make it," he said, grinning as he glanced over to me, "Haven't had many chances to get away from it all, you know? Not recently, anyhow."

"I wouldn't call sitting in a refugee camp '_getting away from it all_,' Vega." Even if, I thought, slumming around the worst part of town I could find was how I used to have fun. These days when I went into the most exclusive club on the Citadel, I got to sit with the goddamn owner. Times sure had changed.

"_Yeah_, but you know what I mean."

"I do," I said simply, drawing in a slow, deep breath of the recycled Citadel air, "It sure feels good to get off the ship and not have to kill anyone." Even _I_ was tired of washing Reaper guts out of my hair. There was only so many times you could grit your teeth against the endless tide before it started to grind you down. Moments like this – and moments with Kaidan – were necessary, only if I could remember what it felt like not to have a gun in my hand.

"Hah, well it's early yet," Vega cocked his head to one side, "You never know." I never did. That's why there was still a gun strapped to my hip.

A young turian passed us, did a double take, and stared openly. I made eye contact and lifted one straight eyebrow, smirking in satisfaction as the voyeur hurried off in surprise. Yes, I thought, moments like this were what I would remember as I took my last breath. I was young, I was healthy, my eyes were like crosshairs, my body was almost entirely made up of muscle, I was one of the most powerful woman in the galaxy, and I was getting tattooed at three in the afternoon in a shipping container with my Lieutenant because I _felt like it_. We settled into companionable silence, and for a while, the only sounds were the buzzing of the needles and the background rustling of the docks. If it weren't for the war, I could sure as hell get used to this.

"So…" James started all-too-innocently, and I braced myself at once, "you and the Major, huh?"

For a marine built like a tank, he could gossip like a goddamn schoolgirl. I knew denying it would only make him push harder because however he'd figured it out, he _knew_now, and he'd never fallen for my bullshit before. He'd long since stopped being afraid of me, even though we both knew I could kick his ass with my bare fists. There were definitely downsides to being friendly with your crew.

Instead of lying, I just stared straight ahead with a hard set to my jaw. "Don't push it."

"That a yes?" he asked, and I could picture the glint of humour in his eyes, the mischievous pull to the corner of his mouth.

"It's a 'shut up before I shut you up,' Lieutenant," I said sharply, turning to glare at him.

"Just _sayin'_," he shrugged with the one shoulder that wasn't being inked, "you seem a lot more chilled out than usual. I just thought…" He didn't need to say what he thought. I knew what he thought and it was true. Having something – some_one_ – to look forward to at the end of the day helped keep my head screwed on tight and my feet firmly on the ground. I didn't know _how_ I'd ever thought I'd get through it all on my own.

"Tattoos relax me," I breathed as the needle _screamed_ over a bone.

"Yeah," he huffed in disbelief, "I'm _sure _that's it."

I opened my mouth to rebut him again, but it seemed pointless, and instead we settled into a comfortable silence again, punctuated by the stop and start of tattoo needles as they finished up the last few lines. This was _definitely_ one of those memories I'd cherish later, when all was said and done. The hour I'd snatched when I had nothing _that _important to do, nothing too pressing. There were a few missions that would demand my attention as soon as we were finished on the Citadel, but right now the fate of the galaxy was out of my hands for once, and was instead being looked after by networks of agents gathering intel and determining the next best place to focus our efforts. Something was brewing with the asari, Kaidan said, but they could look after themselves for now. Just for a while.

I looked over at James, and an impulse rose up inside me to say something _nice_ to him, to be honest for once, now that I'd found I liked how that felt, not to mention the End Of Days looming up ahead. He was fast becoming my protégé, and I couldn't have asked for a better pupil. He wasn't me, of _course_ he wasn't me, but he'd be a hell of a leader one day, and a kick-ass N7. I wanted him to know that I appreciated everything he'd done for me, even when he'd gone against my wishes for my own damn good in the past. He claimed, sometimes, that he was only here because Anderson _still_ hadn't told him he could stop guarding me, but we both knew better. He'd sacrificed a lot to stay with me on the Normandy. I hoped he thought it was worth it.

"I'm glad you're still here, Vega," I said after a while, my eyes sliding over to where he sat. He glanced up at me and smirked, but it wasn't joking or flippant – something in his eyes told me he knew what I meant.

"Me too, Lola."

oOoOoOo

Being overstocked with medigel really did have its advantages, I thought as I spread another thin layer over my healing tattoo. It sunk into my skin, cooling the faint burn that ran along the raised edges. The colours still hadn't quite settled down, but I was liking the look of it already – somewhere between a brand and a badge of honour. It sat on my ribs in such a way that it was unlikely anyone would see it when my clothes were on – unlike my other tattoos – and that was how I liked it. My own private little homage to the institution that had done so much for me.

It was mutual, of course. I was probably the most famous N7 in the galaxy, and I'd done a lot to raise their profile. Members of the public often forgot that my mentor had been the first ever N7 graduate, but it was hard to ignore the stripe down my armour in every shot of me circulated around the airwaves. I became famous enough as the first woman to get the logo etched into my breastplate, and now that it was etched onto my skin as well, I could proudly say that I was legendary in my own right. As I stood there, staring at my own reflection and the ugly sports bra I had to wear, I hoped that seeing me on the frontlines would inspire more women to go after the renowned title I'd snapped up at the tender age of twenty five. Hell, I'd have appreciated a little less testosterone clouding the air when _I'd _been training.

Maybe I'd start up another foundation after the war, I thought, like the Memorial Foundation that scooped up lost kids from the now-burning streets of Earth.

_After the war_. As if there _were_ such a thing, even in my fantasies. It seemed impossible to think about, but, day by day, with Kaidan's help, I was starting to imagine what such a world might look like. It turned out that if you started believing everything could be okay, even if just for a second, that didn't automatically mean your whole world would come crashing down at your feet.

With my hair still loose around my shoulders – definitely getting too long – I picked up my dogtags and pulled them over my head, the cold metal kissing my skin as they fell between the rigid outline of my strapped-down breasts. I kept my eyes squarely on my reflection as I brought the tags up and pressed my lips to the Alliance symbol on one side. The moments before a mission had started to feel _good_ again, just as I remembered. Electricity would crackle over my body in anticipation, I'd started to feel _smug_ about all that I could do and almost sorry for those that would get in my way. Missions like _this_ were the kind I loved. We'd be liberating people, pulling them out of the fire and avenging those that Cerberus had already got to. I felt triumphant _already_, and I hadn't even got my armour on yet. Deep in my bones, I could feel that it would be a _good_ day.

I heard the chiming of my cabin's doors opening and knew immediately who it was. No one but Kaidan would come in without knocking, and even then it was only because I'd hammered it into him that he didn't have to act like a guest when he was basically _living _up here. I hadn't seen him all day as we'd both been busy elsewhere on the ship, and I hadn't thought I'd see him before the mission either, but when I wandered out of the bathroom I realised he must have had something to tell me, as he was looking down at a bundle he held cupped in his hands.

He glanced up at me with a bemused half-smirk on his face, and I raised an eyebrow in question.

"I found something of yours," he said cryptically, "scuttling around the engineering deck."

His hands opened, and my mouth fell open in shock as I saw _my hamster_ nuzzling happily at the skin of his palms. I hadn't even thought of where he might have got to – I'd just come back to my cabin after six months to find the cage empty, just like my fish tank. I assumed one of the retrofit crew had adopted him, taken him away somewhere, but apparently not. He was here, he'd escaped, survived somehow, and now he was back. Like a cockroach after a nuclear blast, only with huge cheeks and soft, tawny fur.

"I didn't think he'd made it through the retrofit," I said, watching as the hamster looked up at me and sniffed the air experimentally.

"So he _is_ yours?" Kaidan asked sceptically, manoeuvring his hands around as the little creature scurried about, exploring the territory of his wrists and fingers, "I thought Tali was just screwing with me when she said 'Shepard will be wanting that back'."

"What, I can't have a pet?" I took it from him, a spark of static flying between us as our fingers touched briefly.

"It's just…with the empty fish tank, I thought…" he glanced back to me, brows together in thought as though he were trying to unravel some kind of secret. More likely, he was trying to reconcile the idea of me with my abs and dog tags on display with the fact that I was holding my hamster affectionately and scratching the back of its neck.

"Fish are _shit_," I said matter-of-factly, "all they do is swim about like they own the place, and they're too stupid not to knock into the glass." He still looked a little dubious. "I _like_ my hamster," I insisted, "He's soft, loyal and, apparently, indestructible. I don't even _want _to know how he survived for so long down there. Engineering better check none of the cables have chew marks."

"What's his name?" he asked, smiling adoringly in a way that made butterflies spring up in my rock-hard belly.

"He doesn't have one," I said defensively, loving the amused glint in his eyes that made me feel a million miles from the warship we were on and the mission just ahead, "There aren't many hamsters in space. I didn't think I needed to single him out by giving him a name he won't even understand."

"That's…uh…" his smile broke into a full on grin and he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief, "That's very true. Guess I never thought of it like that before."

"I do have _some_ good ideas," I smirked, cocking my hip to the side and watching his eyes flick down to my torso, bare but for the ugly, impenetrable sports bra he was getting _very_ good at taking off with one hand. His teeth nipped at his lower lip unconsciously, and I could read his damn mind. Against my will, something warm stirred deep in my belly.

Not _now_, I scolded myself, not just before a mission. There wasn't enough time, and being so relaxed played _havoc_ with my reflexes, but even as I moved over to my desk I felt his eyes following me. As I reached up to the empty cage to deposit my hamster, I stretched expansively, showing off every inch of my skin and my toned, flexible body, and imagined him just _looking_. I knew exactly how much power my body had over him, and I loved it.

That morning I'd been woken up not by Kaidan's hands or lips, but by a message saying that Anderson was available in the comm room, and, of course, by the time I'd got back he was already on shift and there hadn't been _time_ for anything more intimate than hands touching together for a split-second as we passed in the hallway. Even the night before, I'd fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, and the day had been a long one. I knew I had an over-active libido – it was one of the many things that made working with Kaidan such _fun_ – and I knew that Kaidan's metabolism meant he was just as _active_ as I was, so really, when I thought about it, and when I turned back to see that he was stepping towards me with a glint in his dark eyes, it was actually pretty difficult to justify not—

His arm slid around my back, bare skin against skin, pulled me closer in one swift movement, and my mouth opened under his as soon as our lips touched. My heart fluttered powerfully in my chest, every bit of warmth in my body flooding right to my core as he kissed me, full and deep, stealing the breath from my lungs and making my legs weak with _want_.

He pulled back, nose still touching mine, and when I opened my eyes I was pleased to see he was just as flushed as I was. I shifted my thigh and felt him hard against me, a groan rumbling in his throat. I tried some quick calculations in my head about how much time we had left, but when his fingers dug into the skin at my back, urgent and insistent, I no longer cared. I kissed him again, pure, scorching lust pounding through my blood.

"Attention ground team and shuttle crew," EDI's voice chimed out from the ceiling, and I felt my skin prickle with cold, "Our ETA for Grissom Academy is fifteen minutes. Please prepare accordingly."

"Shit," I heard him growl as he broke off.

"Mmm," I huffed in agreement, my body tense and shaking with unfulfilled desire. Above us, my hamster squeaked approvingly and I broke into a breathless laugh, his nose brushing against mine.

"So…we'll talk later?" he murmured, using the phrase that had now become code for 'upstairs in ten' while we were on the ship.

"Sure thing, Major," I purred as I reluctantly moved away from him and, because I felt like making things even worse, slowly and deliberately slid down my sweatpants as I made my way over to where my undersuit was hanging up. Looking over my shoulder, I was satisfied to see his eyes resting firmly on the curve of my backside, just before they moved up to my face and he gave me a stern, scolding look before turning briskly and walking out the door to suit up. I grinned. Shame there wasn't enough time for a cold shower.

I pulled on my undersuit, ignoring the desire still swirling tenaciously in my abdomen, and sucked in deep, calming breaths to steel me for the mission ahead. By the time I'd pulled my armour's gloves on, the hunger had died down to a kind of twitchy, agitated alertness that would hopefully be perfect when we were breaking through the hold Cerberus had on the academy. There would be time for the rest…later. We'd _make_ time.

The mission itself was satisfying as hell. They'd never seen us coming, and together with Garrus we _ploughed_ through Cerberus's troops. Kaidan's biotics meant he could shield the students from any collateral damage while knocking the hostiles into neat little rows for my shotgun and the turian's sniper to take out. Seeing Jack again was a nice surprise, especially considering how much she'd grown in the time I'd been locked up. Teaching apparently agreed with her, but then I should have known pretty damn well what happened when you gave a volatile, damaged killer something to care about. I told her, sternly, that she'd stolen my haircut, and she spat back that it looked better on her. Couldn't argue with that, at least – Jack could wear the hell out of _anything_.

She'd squared up to Kaidan as one all-powerful biotic to another, and he'd stared her down with the quiet confidence of someone who knew full well that they were in charge. The two of them were polar opposites in how they used their biotics, but both were very, very skilled, and even if Jack had no time for his title, I knew she'd respect _that_ about the newest human Spectre. What made the difference was Kaidan's control, his instinctive knowledge of when to hold back and when to charge in, his perfect timing taught by a lifetime of strict discipline. She saw that for herself when her wide barrier was getting pummelled by heavy gunfire from all sides, and Kaidan was suddenly just _t__here_, pushing Cerberus back with a shockwave before throwing up a barrier in front of hers that would hold them off long enough for the students to escape while Garrus and I tore through the reinforcements. Jack had crouched down to catch her breath, and I'd caught her eye as she looked back at me in disbelief, as if to ask where the fuck I'd found _this_ guy.

Back on board the Normandy, spirits were high. That was what happened when not only was the mission a success, but casualties were minimal and we'd gained a hell of a lot of support. _My _spirits were pretty damn high too, but that had a lot to do with the looks Kaidan was throwing at me, the ones that made my iron-clad composure slip. His expression was the same as always – calm professional, but there was something smouldering just beneath, something just for me. Being able to watch him during the mission at such close quarters had been…_stimulating_, to say the least. It wasn't that I didn't know exactly how powerful Kaidan was, it was that being able to sit back in cover and watch him tear through an enemy flank _knowing_ that he was all mine was something I could definitely get used to. I wondered if he was doing it on purpose. _I'd_ certainly been showing off on purpose, throwing in a few athletic leaps and using my omniblade more than was strictly necessary to get the job done.

Apparently it had worked, because the glint in his eyes _definitely _wasn't just adrenaline comedown. A side effect of me showing off had been my armour getting grazed by a bullet more than once, and so I was putting it into its case in the hangar bay so the dents could be buffed out while I slept. The third time I tried and failed to open the crushed buckle at my hip, I swore. It was at an awkward angle, and with my breastplate still on I couldn't quite reach it. That was when I felt him come up behind me, smelt the crisp eezo on the air, and even through the layers of plating I could feel his fingers working deftly at the buckle until it popped open, but he didn't stop there. His hands skimmed under the section of armour that lifted off, as though he were helping me remove it when in reality he was just making every muscle he touched tense up in anticipation. I glanced back to see his face – the picture of nonchalance, just like mine – and he made no move to leave. I lifted my arms, daring him to continue, and with the same careful pressure he undid the catches at my ribs. When his fingers brushed over my undersuit it felt like his lips trailing across bare skin.

Goosebumps rose on my arms, and though the post-mission calm had descended over me already, I still felt wound-up and tight, straining clockwork _just_ held in place by the cameras I knew were watching our every move, not to mention the _soldiers_ just around the corner, chatting away in total ignorance. I knew this was ridiculous, and definitely something a woman of my calibre shouldn't be stooping to, but when I looked over my shoulder again and felt his breath soft against my neck, eyes _burning_ with desire, it took all the self-control I'd built up over a lifetime to not just throw my arms around his neck and _fuck_ the regulations.

"We'll talk later, okay?" I said breathlessly, putting a stop to this _right_ fucking now before he did something stupid like kiss me and make it impossible for either of us to reach the elevator – let alone my room – without the cameras catching far more than they should.

"Sure thing, _Commander_," he murmured, voice husky and low and _not helping_. I caught a sparkle in his eye, and realised with a stab of fury that this was just payback from earlier in the day when he'd no doubt found his armour a little tighter than usual. I lifted my chin, feeling the flush painting my cheeks, and turned purposefully on my heel before striding towards the elevator.

I didn't have time for this. I was a Commander and I had shit to do, and I wasn't going to let my one-time Lieutenant think I was putty in his hands. Instead I swallowed the need brewing deep inside me, and changed into loose clothes with a scowl on my face. I reported to Hackett with all of the blunt irritability he'd come to expect from me, and it felt pretty damn good to be told that things were going well for a change. It felt just as good to be able to relay that same information to Anderson, who took the news about Saunders with a deep sigh of pure relief that told me it wasn't just professional concern. She'd spoken about him as though she'd go through the ordeal at Grissom again and again if it would just keep him safe, and now Anderson's words made me smile. It was good for him to have something personal to fight for too, just like I had. In a way, we'd always had each other, but we both knew that wasn't enough, not when we were both soldiers who found every month we stayed alive a pleasant surprise. If this war was being fought with morale and human spirit – that was all we had over the Reapers while the Crucible was still in construction – then small victories like Grissom would see us through to the end.

They would _have_ to.

It was almost an hour later that I found myself finally confirming the next destination with Joker on the galaxy map, one of Hackett's missions from a tip-off that he assured me would be worthwhile. I'd meant to get away quickly, but there were always more reports and briefings that required my immediate and undivided attention, and as much as I wanted to celebrate a battle won, the war was still raging all around us. By then it was late in the day and I was starting to wonder where the hell Kaidan had got to, but, as always, I didn't have to look far. I glanced up as the elevator doors opened, and there he was, the corners of his mouth curving up against his will as I entered.

"Major," I said sharply in greeting, catching the way his hands twitched by his sides. I steeled my expression, swallowing the smile about to break out on my face as I jabbed the button for the top floor. Kaidan didn't respond, but as soon as the doors shut out the rest of the ship, his arms dived around my waist and crushed me against him, my mouth opening under his as he kissed me just as hungrily as he had _hours_ ago. I pushed him against the wall; fighting back and fumbling with the clasp of his belt, feeling all the adrenaline come _flooding_ back at once. The doors opened again, and this time there was nothing to stop us, no bystanders or cameras or missions, nothing but the night ahead.

By the time we'd stumbled into my actual cabin his hands were sliding my top over my head and my stomach was twisting itself into knots, begging and _aching_ because two false alarms in one day was just too much when I had _this_ much tension to work out. I pulled his shirt open and heard something rip but I didn't care, neither of us did. He gasped as I shoved him roughly onto my bed, and as I climbed over him, a predatory fire in my eyes, he grabbed me around the waist and rolled me beneath him, lips and teeth dragging ravenously over my neck.

I made to push him back, to flip him over again and take charge, but the feel of his muscles just beneath the skin of his shoulders made me forget, and as his lips closed over my nipple all I could do was stifle the cry in the back of my throat and dig my fingers into his thick, black mass of hair. His hand moved from around my waist and trailed down the toned muscles of my abdomen, my hips bucking in anticipation when he slipped beneath the waistband of my pants, reaching lower, _agonisingly_ slowly, until he cupped a hand against me, rough fingers sending delicious ripples through my body with every move. I could feel him hard against my thigh, but all I could do was writhe in place with my nails scraping against the sheets. With one last, electric flick of his tongue over my breast, he shifted forward and claimed my mouth with his again, coaxing half-stifled moans from my lips as the pressure built at my core.

My hands trembled as I pushed my underwear down from my hips, still twisting beneath him, and as he tugged them down the rest of the way and glanced up at me, the pure, primal _need_ in his eyes making me melt inside. Reaching behind his neck, I pulled him to me and kissed him, stubble scratching at my cheeks, and every second where he fumbled with the still-closed buckle of his pants was an unbearable infinity. When he urged me to lift my hips and then, finally, conclusively, moved inside me, I let out a cry ripped straight from my throat.

I braced my foot against the bed to press myself closer as we moved, hard and fast and desperate for every hot breath and inch of skin to blur together. I didn't care that my voice was loud and brazen, or that we were hanging off the mattress, or that this would only last a matter of minutes because I'd been ready for _hours_ and even now I could feel him tensing up, groaning into my neck, and the air was rushing into my lungs and I was swelling up, arching my back, sparks prickling along my body in sweet, breathless anticipation until—

Every drop of blood rose to the surface of my skin and flushed it pink as I reached a peak and the moment hung in the air. And then it was all I could do to throw my head back and gasp and hold his body to mine as the waves heaved through me like thunder, one crash after another, leaving me weak and shaken as a leaf on the wind.

Everything in my head was the crackling at the end of a firework show, the flowing out of the tide, and the simple, soft-focus intimacy of the afterglow. Kaidan's shoulders moved beneath my fingers as he leant up on his elbows and kissed my face lazily, lovingly. I caught his neck in the crook of my elbow and pulled him down so I could kiss his lips instead. The pounding of blood in my ears wound down to a warm, pleasant hum, and I opened my eyes.

The breathless smile on his face then was the most perfect thing I'd ever seen, the brackets framing his mouth and the creases at the corners of his eyes making it even better. He was looking at me as though he'd swap every other moment lived for this one instant in time and, honestly, right now the idea was pretty damn tempting, especially considering my life before.

At some point since we entered, the lights had been dimmed, and I wondered privately what EDI must have thought of that display of animal lust. I decided I didn't care, and smiled back up at him. We parted, our arms still tangled together as he rolled onto his back and pulled me with him, my body twisting so every part of my flushed skin could be touching his. I'd never known there could be so much comfort in simple skin-to-skin contact, but then, I supposed, we were all just animals deep down. And I'd learned in the past few days to take my comfort where I could.

We'd done well today, I thought. That was all that needed saying about the mission, or the war. We'd done well today, and we'd do even better tomorrow. I could feel the tide turning, deep within my bones. Maybe that was just the cocktail of hormones rushing through my blood as I nuzzled against a man I'd chased for _years_. I took in a deep, satisfied breath, and let it out as a laugh when his dreamy smile turned into a full-on grin.

This, right here, was perfect. This was the thing that I held onto in my mind when everything else seemed hopeless. This, when it came down to it, was what I was truly fighting for, because now that I'd found him again I wanted to spend the rest of my life curled up _just_ like this, and I wanted everyone else to have the same chance for happiness as I'd been given _twice_. To do that, we'd have to kill the Reapers, destroy Cerberus and win this goddamn war, but…well, tomorrow was another day.

"That scar on your lip," he started huskily, reaching up to cup my face and stroke a thumb over the deep groove left by an attacker's knife that had split open my mouth at the tender age of seventeen, when I'd looked in the mirror afterwards – head shaved, eyes hollow – and _known_ that no one would ever look at me and think I was beautiful. Things changed.

"Mmm," I hummed in encouragement, pursing my lips to make the trench of scar tissue even more obvious than it was.

"It's in almost exactly the same place as mine," he said simply, "but on the other side. They're like…mirror images, you know?" He breathed a sharp laugh, then, as though the thought and the fact that he'd said it out loud were both stupid, but inside I'd turned to jelly. I'd thought that same thing before, of course I had, and I'd thought of when we kissed and those relics of our teenage years lined up together, but I'd never for a second thought of saying it out loud. It seemed foolish, cloying, _obsessive_, even, but here he was, saying it in total innocence, with nothing but that adorable, self-conscious smirk on his scarred lips. And, once again, I was amazed.

I was constantly amazed at him, at the very idea that he could think about me in the same way that I thought about him. I'd never have thought the women behind my title could ever be worth so much of someone else's time and energy. It seemed so simple, _obvious_, but to me it was incredible. It was like looking around your own private little world, the one you didn't share with _anyone_, and realising that someone else had been there the entire time. And what was more, you didn't really mind.

"Yeah," I said quietly, feeling my cheeks burn with the afterglow and, now, something else, "I did know that."

Kaidan chuckled, and I joined him, folding my body closer just so his arms could reach further around me, stretching my neck up to kiss him soft and slow. He settled back against the pillows and stroked over my arm absentmindedly as he stared up at the blanket of stars above us. I just kept my eyes firmly on the dark red lines of scarring that ran up the side of my hand, and marvelled at how my skin looked in sharp contrast against his chest and his own fingers as they threaded through mine. I wondered if I'd ever stop being amazed at the idea that someone as perfect as him could ever care so much for a broken down and stitched-up thing like me. I wondered if I'd ever stop being amazed at how much I cared for him back.

Suddenly, something clicked in his head and his brows twitched together, as though he just remembered he'd left the tap running. And then he glanced down at me, his mouth curved into a smile, and he said, cryptically, "I've got something for you."

I missed the warmth of his body as he shifted over to the other side of the bed and rummaged in the bag he'd stashed there yesterday, but curiosity soon took over as I racked my brain for whatever 'something' might be. His things had slowly been moving up here from the room he was supposed to be sharing with a few others, but according to him none of them had noticed yet, or if they had then they weren't saying anything. Regulations didn't really mean shit in a situation like this. I knew for a fact that the engineers were shacking up but as long as they could keep the ship purring like a kitten I didn't care. I doubted very much that anyone would have a cross word to say if they found out about Kaidan and I, and we'd been pretty careful, all things considered.

I really hoped that the camera feed from the elevator didn't end up on the extranet, though.

He rolled back over to me and I got into a sitting position as he held out a box in his palm, dark indigo inlayed with silver. It looked fancy as hell.

"For me?" I asked plainly, just to make sure this wasn't some kind of practical joke. He nodded as though it were obvious, and, with my eyes still locked on his in what was probably unwarranted suspicion, I took the box, felt the weight of it in my hand, and found myself still baffled.

"What for?" I tried again to give some context to this whole thing, but my words were getting tied up in my mouth.

"I could say 'just because', but actually it's…" he looked sheepish, "…kind of a late birthday gift.'

"Kaidan, my birthday's in April," I said sternly, still _very_ suspicious, "That was…almost seven months ago. I think this counts as really early, not late."

He grinned, brackets forming around his mouth, "I got it a while back, when I was on the Citadel and you were still in custody at Alliance HQ. I figured you'd be out any day, so I could give it to you then, sort of…an apology, you know? But…it took longer than I thought, and then the Reapers happened. Forgot I even had it; it was in storage with the rest of my stuff. I found it yesterday."

He didn't say that the fact that I'd been at his throat for so long meant he probably hadn't had the chance or the desire to give it to me. We were still ignoring that whole, dark episode. I looked down at the lovely little box and felt myself soften inside. Even then, he'd been thinking of me. He'd never forgotten me, just as I'd never forgotten him. I was just too stupid to know it, too caught up in my own juvenile spite to see what was right in front of me.

He'd got me a birthday present. It was seven months late, but it was still _here_, and I still had no idea how to react to it. The box really was lovely.

"When's—" I cut myself off from asking when_ his_ birthday was, because it definitely felt like the kind of thing I should have known, but I couldn't think of what else I could say to cover it.

Kaidan read my mind and answered me anyway.

"I knew that," I said quickly, "I was just…I mean…I was going to—"

"Just open it," he said with a little smirk at my floundering. I realised I'd been stalling, and, with Kaidan watching my face for a reaction, I flicked the box open.

My lips parted in surprise. Nestled in a sea of crushed velvet was a gemstone that looked like every swirling nebula in the galaxy rolled into one impossibly beautiful whole. The deepest blacks, the richest purples, the brightest and most _alive_ blues and yellows…it was the most gorgeous thing I'd ever seen. I didn't know something this perfect could exist. I picked up the dark, silvery chain attached and held it up, watching as the low lights bounced around and through the jewel and revealed new planes and facets, and as I turned it in my hands the thought struck me that this must have cost an absolute fortune. No doubt the Major's pay packet was a little sweeter than mine, even with my N7 status. Money had never really been an issue for either of us, but…_still_. Was I really worth that much?

I racked my brains for the last time someone had got me a birthday present that wasn't a round of drinks or a night on the town. A _real_ gift.

The only one I could remember was my twelfth birthday, when Calvern had been suspiciously kind and light. I'd already learnt by then that his moods were as changeable as the winds, and that if he was smiling at you it could mean anything from 'genuinely pleased' to 'about to have you tortured and killed'. He'd presented me with a box wrapped up extravagantly with a bow. I couldn't remember what colour it was; just that it had been my favourite colour at the time. I'd opened it with trembling fingers, not sure whether to expect a bomb or a china doll, but when I lifted the lid I'd found, to my surprise, a sleek, curved, black and silver pistol, engraved with cobalt blue and just small enough for the hands of a malnourished girl. He'd told me he'd had it specially made, _just_ for me, said 'a little bird' had told him I liked guns. At the time all I could think was _finally_ he was taking me seriously, _finally_ I'd get to explore the thrill I got every time I had a gun in my hands. It had been the best birthday ever. But, looking back, it was a shocking, ugly thing to do to a child, especially a child like _me_. It had been the tipping point where I'd stopped being his pet and started being his weapon. It hadn't been a gift, it had been a bribe, a way to lure me in and make me trust his lies, his false promises.

I stared at the jewel in my hands, at this perfect, lovely thing I held, and I looked back to Kaidan. In his eyes I saw no scheme, no ulterior motive, just pleasure at the smile which was spreading over my face. I was still overwhelmed by the idea that this kind of affection could come without a catch. That it could be _this_ easy.

"I…" I was lost for words, "It's beautiful."

He slid his fingers under the chain and took it from me, reaching around my neck to fasten it at the back, thumbs stroking over my skin. The gemstone draped itself in the valley between my breasts, its ethereal beauty in sharp contrast to the scar that ran up my ribcage and the tattoo healing at my side.

"Yeah, reminded me of you," he said with a half-smirk, as though he knew he was being corny as hell, 'I'm glad you like it."

"I…I do," I said, suddenly nervous for some reason, "it's…I think it's the nicest thing I own, and I own a lot of guns, so…" he chuckled, but my mind was elsewhere, and I looked up at him uncertainly, "but I…I mean it's a nice gesture, but I can't wear this anywhere. I'd lose it or break it or something. I don't really go anywhere…you know, _nice_."

"Then keep it for later," he shrugged, leaning back against the pillows and making himself comfortable, apparently satisfied with my reaction, "When this is all over and done with and we've got time to waste. I'll take you somewhere nice. You can wear it then."

'_It'll never be over,'_ my mind whispered, '_you'll never be done. You wouldn't know what to do with peace even if you had it.'_

I told my mind to shut the fuck up, and held back the tide of fear and cynicism by drinking in Kaidan's words.

"You mean like…" I smirked, placing the box on the side and stretching over him, the gem gliding along the skin of his chest, "a big _fancy_ restaurant with linin tablecloths and shit?"

"Exactly," his hands moved around my ribcage – expertly missing my new ink – and drew me closer as I nestled against him, "with waiters in impractical suits and a menu full of things only very rich people would ever think of eating. We'll have earned it."

"I don't think those places are too hot on things like tattoos and shaved heads," I murmured, loving the feel of his fingers absently stroking over my arm, "I mean _you_ could probably get in with that haircut, but if they've got a door policy I'm screwed."

I could feel him grin as he ran his fingers up to the longer stubble at the base of my skull.

"Fuck 'em," he muttered. A laugh burst out of my mouth and I suddenly felt…strangely rebellious. As though I could do literally _anything_ so long as I still had the man below me, the one who had grown strong and defiant in the past few years. I'd never been shy, I'd never given much thought to propriety or decorum, but I'd always known the things in life that weren't for me. Being laughed at because I looked like a gang-bred mercenary trying to pass as a regular human being was one of them, so I'd always stuck to what I _knew_. But then, I hadn't thought _this_ kind of thing was for me either, and here I was, nuzzling and giggling and acting like a loved-up kitten, and I never wanted it to end.

"When we save their asses," he explained, "they'll be climbing over each other to pour their finest champagne down our throats. It'll be a hell of a party."

I pouted half-heartedly, "I don't like champagne."

I'd never had champagne – not _real_ champagne, anyway – but it didn't sound like it was for me. Too delicate.

"Fine," I could hear the smile still in his voice, and I bit my lip to stop myself from grinning, "their finest bourbon."

"Do you think we'll get medals?" I _definitely_ liked medals – that real, physical proof that you'd done something incredible, that kind of recognition that didn't come with an ugly price, unless you counted sweating in Alliance formals for a few hours. _I_ did.

"You know, I'm not sure there's a medal big enough," he replied, surprise in his voice as though he'd just realised something important even though I _knew _he was still smiling and was just going along with me for the hell of it, "They might have to invent a new one. You've already got the Star of Terra, so it'd have to be pretty impressive."

I giggled again, feeling stupid and loving it and _especially_ loving the fact that there was no one here but him and me to see it. I let myself talk, without caring about what I was saying. That kind of freedom felt incredible. "Maybe…maybe all the species in the galaxy will take all their best medals and melt them down and create one _huge_ medal."

Kaidan's chest shook beneath me as he laughed silently, "I'm sure we could swing that," he said, "It'd be a hell of a sight."

"Maybe I'll get my own colony," I said quickly, feeling bold, "One with a beach. I've never been to the seaside, y'know. Not properly." Stalking a dockside deal and booting a fresh corpse into a wild, black ocean didn't count, I was sure.

"Just one beach?" he complained, "Aim a little higher – it's a colony, it can be as big as you like with as many beaches as you can fit on the coast. There's a lot to choose from."

"Okay, a whole colony _filled_ with beaches. An island. Maybe a _continent_." I imagined the many issues with owning an entire continent, and scaled back my post-war ambitions a little. "What about a house? I've never had a house, not a real one."

Even my mother's house had been an apartment, high in a grey building that was all angles and cracked, dirty windows. That wasn't a real home.

"Save a few more planets and you could probably get a house big enough to fit a firing range," he murmured, voice warm and pleased.

"That would be _amazing_," I said, my last word mingling with a yawn that relaxed every muscle in my body as I settled against him. "Could I get a fish tank too? I kind of like it. It's grown on me."

"Yes," he said after some consideration, "but only if you get some actual fish. It looks weird when it's empty."

"Fish are _shit_," I insisted.

"Then get some jellyfish or manta rays or something else. Having just a tank of empty water is _definitely_ weird."

"I'll get a skylight too," I inhaled the skin of his neck and closed my eyes, the warmth filling my body, "I'm too used to looking at the stars."

"Mmm," he mumbled in agreement, nuzzling against my hair, "maybe get that instead of a garage," I felt his cheek move as he smirked, and I knew exactly what he was going to say, "If there's anyone else on this colony of yours, you probably shouldn't be driving."

I smiled in the darkness, holding my happiness to myself like a secret, a price I'd never let go of. I didn't even care that he'd insulted my flawless driving.

The room was silent, filled with nothing but the constant hum of the ship. It was in that darkness that the fear stabbed at my heart again, when I remembered all that was left to do, and all that I had to lose if we failed.

"Kaidan?" I asked quietly.

"Hmm?"

"Will you be there?"

His arms tightened around me, and even in the dark I saw the glinting of the jewel around my neck.

"Always."

**Chapter 29: Haunted (II)** – The second half of this super-long chapter!


	29. Haunted II

Chapter 29: Haunted (II)

_Shepard_

As soon as our boots hit the ground, I knew today was going to be a _good_ day. We'd got to Benning just in time to stop the first Cerberus shuttles from taking off, and this, right here, was a mission that _everyone_ could get involved in, even the guards throughout the ship that had been itching for combat since the day the Reapers hit. There was an Alliance base nearby, but their numbers were low, and the support from the Normandy was all they needed to start taking back their colony from the people that had come to snatch their civilians.

The sense of liberation was spreading through the colony like a shockwave. I heard it in the distant shouts of civilians and soldiers alike, I heard it rustling over the commlink frequencies – the knowledge that the Normandy was here, that_ Commander Shepard_ was here, and that everything would now, somehow, be alright.

We moved through the colony, Garrus and Javik at my side while Kaidan and James led Alliance soldiers to secure a perimeter, and for the first time I felt at peace with the idea of being a symbol, a _hero_, even. If it meant I could do _this_ all the time, if it meant I could actually make a difference to people's lives, physically pull them out of harm's way, then I could deal with that title, because at least I could live up to it. As we mowed down Cerberus's forces, I felt unstoppable. The sight of me cutting through their ranks in my distinctive armour, my helmet off and my guns blazing, was apparently enough to make their troops hesitate, retreat, and to give the trapped civilians a chance to sprint to safety.

Times like this, I fucking _loved_ my job, and I loved whatever genetic accident had given me the reflexes to do it so damn well.

I'd sent the others after another cluster of agents while I broke off by myself to chase down one last squad that had splintered off. I slowed my stride to take careful aim and _bang_, the one in front of me fell forward with a strangled cry. I hurdled his body and swung around the next corner where his allies had ducked into cover, but not fast enough. I squinted against the bright sun, squeezed the trigger, and a Cerberus gun flew off to one side as I landed a bullet deep in an enemy's shoulder. As she recoiled in pain, another shot right between her eyes finished the job.

Like an idiot, her friend lifted his head to scan the horizon, and the first shot I fired shattered his shields, the second straight after ended his miserable life. I reloaded, as calmly as though I were in a firing range with a brand new toy. I caught my reflection in the window of a deserted prefab house, and wiped the splatter of blood from my cheek before giving myself a dark, knowing smirk that said _I_ was in charge here. The last one in their squad was still running, but I could catch him with ease. And if there were any others left, he'd lead me straight to them.

I stuck to the shadows as I followed his trail, and it wasn't long before I found him, leaning against a wall wheezing heavily. He was barking something breathlessly into his commlink, but froze mid-sentence as I stepped into his line of sight, my gun raised and a finger to my lips.

"I…uh…I…" he stuttered uselessly, and then I saw his hand twitching by his side, about to reach for his gun, and I thought it would be cruel of me to let him think he had a chance. I fired, he flattened against the wall, and slid down into a crumpled heap on the ground. Suicidal _idiot_.

I picked up his commlink, heard them asking what the hell had happened, and I lowered my voice to a purr, "This is Commander Shepard," I said, "and I'm coming for every single one of you. So get the fuck off this colony, and _stay_ gone."

There was a muffled '_oh shit_' before the line went dead, and I felt very, very smug.

I scanned the surrounding area on my omnitool but found nothing, and quick listen to the Alliance channel told me that the tide had definitely turned, and we had all but taken back the colony. It had gone perfectly. Time, I thought, to go home.

No sooner had I turned on my heel to leave when a piercing scream rang through the air. A _child's _scream. I froze, listened again, and when I heard another shout I broke into a run, tearing through the thin, interlocking alleyways to get to the source of the sound. I found myself at the edge of the district, by a high, metal wall with vents dotted along the top, and on a ladder in the distance I saw movement. As I ran closer I saw a tiny figure scurrying up the ladder into a maintenance shaft above, with three fully armoured Cerberus agents just behind. Pausing to aim, I took out the one on top – not a perfect shot, but he was hurt enough to fall – and scowled as the other two flattened themselves against the ladder to miss his tumbling body. With one hand firmly on a rung, the lowest one got out his gun and fired pot-shots at me as I rushed towards him. None had a chance in hell of hitting. I dived to one side as he hurled a grenade that spluttered uselessly behind some crates, and fired a shot that caught him right in the neck. He fell to the ground, his arms flailing manically at his helmet as blood gushed from the wound, and I finished him with an executioner's precision.

I looked up to the top of the ladder and saw the last of them arc back with a grunt as their quarry kicked him in the face. He reached up and grabbed a leg, shouting something that was muffled by his helmet, and I lifted my gun and shot him right in the back. He fell to the ground, the breath knocked out of his body, and I shot him again, just to empty my clip.

I heard something clanging around the maintenance shaft above, and realised that whoever they were chasing probably didn't have the slightest intention of coming down. With a quick glance around I knew there were no Cerberus agents nearby aside from the ones I stepped over now as I put away my gun and got onto the ladder.

"I'm coming up, okay?" I called when I was halfway up because I didn't want a boot in my face, "I'm with the Alliance, I'm not gonna hurt you."

There was no answer, but I wouldn't have said a damn thing either. I hoped the vent had been closed off so they couldn't get too far, because I wasn't in the mood for scrambling through a crawlspace. I reached the top and peered into the slim metal tunnel, where I saw a little girl staring back at me with huge, saucer-like eyes, legs clutched to her chest as she huddled against the back wall of the vent.

Suddenly it was a month and a half ago and I was tearing through Vancouver to get to the Normandy, and I'd paused for just a few seconds to see that kid who'd looked me right in the face and said that there was _nothing_ I could do to save him, or anyone else. That goddamn kid who haunted me in my dreams and who I saw dying over and over again along with so many others who had meant so much more, but for some reason _his_ was the face that I saw every night along with the screaming sirens of Reaper horns and—

No. This was different. The girl staring at me now had dirt on her face, a few scratches too, she was _shivering_ with fear and this time I wasn't leaving anyone behind. I gripped the rungs tighter as pure hate welled up inside me for the men I'd just killed, the ones that would have snatched her and done who the hell knows what with her body. I'd kill them a thousand times over just to keep her safe. No kid deserved to be afraid in their own home. I could save her.

"You can come out now," I said gently, not really sure how to talk to anyone who wasn't also a soldier, and even _less _sure of how to talk to children, "they're all gone."

"That's what they said before," she whimpered, her voice hoarse from screaming, "then they chased me here." Her skinny fingers were digging into her leg strangely, turning her brown skin pale.

"Did they hurt you?" She shook her head, still not moving. I glanced back to scan the area for hostiles again, but there were none. In the distance I could see their shuttles fleeing. We had time. I tried a different tactic.

"What's your name?" She stared at me suspiciously, her round lips pursed and staying firmly shut. "My name's Jena," I offered, "Commander Jena Shepard, I'm with the Normandy. What's yours?"

"_You're_ Commander Shepard?" She asked doubtfully, her little fingers moving to pick at the rip by the knee of her pants where a cut would need cleaning later.

"Yeah, I am." I pulled out my dogtags and dangled them in front of her, not even sure if she could read, "See?" She squinted and shifted forward, still looking like she'd bolt at any moment, even though she had nowhere to go.

"The Alliance are here?" Her eyes scanned the area just behind me, still wide and anxious. Her arms were shaking as she braced herself against the vent.

"Yeah, we are. We're here to help." I saw her sag a little, the look of someone who was very, very tired of running, and something inside me twisted with an all-consuming need to protect her, to somehow make it so she'd never been exposed to any of this.

"What's your name?" I asked again, this time even softer.

"Jess," she said simply, still looking worried, "Have you seen my dad?"

"I'm not sure," I shrugged, not understanding how she expected me to know who the hell he was, "but some friends of mine from the Alliance are making sure everyone's safe. If they found your dad he'll be with them. Should we try to find him?" I tried to make out like we were going on some kind of adventure, but she clearly wasn't falling for it.

Her thin eyebrows moved together in concern. "Are Cerberus all gone?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "I chased them off. They're all gone."

She fixed me with a long, intense stare for a while, as though letting me know that if I were lying there'd be hell to pay. And then, finally, she started crawling through the vent towards me, her hands filthy and slipping against the metal floor.

I glanced down, just to make sure the way was clear, and at once my eyes focused sharply on the three bodies piled on the floor, fresh blood splattered over the grey earth, still pumping pathetically out of the one I'd shot in the neck. As soon as I'd seen her, I'd forgotten all about the men I'd killed.

"How old are you, Jess?" I asked suddenly.

"I'm six next week," she said with a note of pride, shifting forward as she reached the entrance.

"Nearly six, huh?" I replied, trying to sound impressed for some reason but ending up just sounding patronising, "Maybe you can help me out, then."

"How?" She asked as I picked her up with one arm and she wrapped her skinny legs around my armoured waist.

"I need you to close your eyes," I looked down at her, trying to impress upon her five-year-old mind that this was something_ important_, "Close your eyes and don't open them until I say so. Can you do that?"

She screwed up her dirt-smeared face in disbelief, "That doesn't sound like it would help."

My mouth fell open, and I looked straight into her bright, intelligent eyes as she dared me to lie to her after everything that had happened today.

"Then just do it for me," I said instead, "Close your eyes and count to a hundred. Please?"

She obediently screwed her eyes shut and pressed her head into my shoulder as I climbed down the ladder. Her wispy afro hair smelled like smoke and engine grease and something soft and floral that had no place in this wasteland. When I reached the ground, I got out my gun and gripped it tight as I wrapped both my arms around her, holding her tiny body to me like she was the only reason we'd come to this planet. I stepped over the dead bodies of Cerberus and civilians alike, and I _hated_ this war and all it had done, all it had made other _people_ do. The Reapers could almost be forgiven, mindless as they were, but Cerberus had _no_ excuse. In a war, sacrifices had to be made, but nothing – not even victory – was worth this total disregard for innocent lives. When I sent the Reapers back to hell, I wanted to do it with my humanity intact. I wouldn't forget who I was. I wouldn't forget what was important. Small victories – like being able to personally save this one young life – would be what won us the war.

Cerberus colours flashed to my left, and I whirled around to shoot a lone trooper just as he ran for cover. _Fuck you_, I thought bitterly. Jess didn't even stir, though I felt her arms tense around me as the shot echoed in the air and she counted faithfully under her breath.

I saw the Normandy like a shining beacon only a minute away, parked on top of a platform and surrounded by soldiers who had secured the area for the evacuation. Shuttles were landing constantly, dropping off harrowed civilians and leaving again to pick up even more. A report flashed up on my omnitool alerting all personnel on the ground that they were officially calling the colony secure, as there was no longer a Cerberus presence.

"Hey, look," I said quietly, placing my gun back in its holster. Jess roused and raised her head, but her eyes were still firmly shut.

"I haven't got to a hundred yet," she said with a pout, and I found myself smiling, so pleased that I was at the right place at the right time, and that I'd saved her.

"It's okay, you can stop now," I held her with both arms as I walked through the barricade, "We're here." I felt the soldiers' eyes follow me and my unusual cargo. My reputation definitely preceded me these days, and seeing how most people thought I was a heartless, ruthless, Reaper-killing machine, right now I was only too happy to prove them wrong.

Jess looked up. She saw the Normandy and at once started glancing around to call for her dad in a surprisingly strong voice, still clinging tightly to my neck. A ragged shout made her squirm around in my arms, and I turned to see a man running towards me with tears bright in his eyes, face collapsing with relief.

"Jessica, _Jessica_, oh my god, oh—" his voice trailed off she launched herself into his arms and he gathered her up, burying his face in her hair, his shoulders shaking, "I thought they took you, I thought…I…" he looked up, his wide, frantic eyes locking with mine, and it was like he was seeing me for the very first time. "Thank you," he whispered, his hands tight around his daughter, "thank you so much. _Thank you_."

"Just make sure she's okay," I heard myself say in a very official-sounding voice. Feeling out of place at this family reunion, I made my way back to the Normandy and it was only then that I saw the camera hovering by the hangar bay entrance with a beaming Diana Allers standing beside.

"You really do get me the best footage, Commander," she said, sounding almost a little choked up, "I mean it. In one stroke you've got Cerberus as monsters, you as the hero, and – seeing as that guy said he thought his kid was _dead_ a few seconds ago – a real life miracle."

I shrugged, not really sure how to respond now that the mission was over, the adrenaline had receded, and I'd passed on my trophy to her father. "It's what I do," I said simply.

She cleared her throat, face glossing over with that perky broadcaster smile, "got anything to say about today?"

Her camera swung down to point straight at me, and my mind worked quickly to think of a suitable soundbite. In my Commander voice I rattled off something about how Cerberus could _never_ be trusted no matter what they said, how they kidnapped people for sick experiments and killed those that resisted. I talked about how it was lucky we were close enough to make a difference, but that we wouldn't always be able to help, so it was up to _everyone_ to be vigilant.

_You can't save them all._

"We came here to liberate this colony from Cerberus," I said, wrapping things up, "and that's exactly what we've done. No one gets left behind," I lied; faces of those we'd lost flashing in front of my eyes, "Not while I'm in charge."

She sighed wistfully as the camera's lights faded away, and glanced up at me with true admiration in her eyes.

"Thanks, Commander. Always a pleasure."

I took a while to take a circuit of the temporary camp and make sure everything else was indeed under control before I headed back onto the Normandy, groundside for the first time in a _long _time. It was odd, being on the ship without the constant background noise of the engine humming in the back of my head. Even stranger was taking off my armour while sunrays streamed through the skylight above my room. Kaidan wasn't back yet. I'd been told that he and the others were taking a longer route back to clear out a few stragglers, but that all other areas were secure, and overall the mission had been a phenomenal success. _That_ was what I liked to hear. This run-down little shantytown had enough troubles without Cerberus making their lives even worse. It was tough enough growing up a poor human in a poor colony. I hoped they'd all remember this day and know what it was like to have some hope at last.

I threw on a plain grey tank top and black pants instead of fatigues, rewarding myself by wearing actual clothes for once. Speaking of which...

I found the package that had been waiting for me on the Citadel, a gift from the Ns for all I'd done, and a smile crossed my face as I pulled out a crisp leather jacket – _real _leather too – with the distinctive N7 logo emblazoned on the chest. The collar was straight and high, and when I looked closer at the inside, I saw that images of the most impressive medals and awards I'd collected had been embroidered into the lining on the inside of the neck. The Star of Terra was there, and they'd represented the traditional flake of meteorite with opalescent silver thread. That was a nice little touch, something to say this was _just_ for me. Since yesterday, I'd decided that I _really did_ like presents.

There was a note with it that simply said 'Make us Proud,' and I smiled. _Damn right_ I would.

When I pulled it on and admired the fit, I spied the box Kaidan had given me resting on the bedside table. It was tempting, but my dog tags were still slung around my neck, and they were a far more fitting decoration, no matter _how _triumphant I felt. Just because we'd won the battle didn't mean we'd won the war.

I checked the time on my omnitool, and found a message from Kaidan. It said they'd be back soon, that they were just wrapping up, and I decided I wanted to be there to meet them. I wanted to be the first to tell them that we'd officially won the day. I walked over to the doors feeling light as air, but when I opened them I saw Samantha standing by the elevator, a worried look drawing her face together, and I stopped in my tracks, feet rooted to the floor.

_Something happened to Kaidan_, my mind whispered at once, _something bad__. She looks scared to tell you._

_He's probably dead._

"Traynor?" I prompted, swallowing the bitter paranoia that had climbed up my throat.

"Commander," she greeted, trying to be warm but there was still a concerned line in her brow, "Um. Sorry. I know you just got back, but..." _say it_ "...one of the civilians wants to talk to you."

I pursed my lips in sudden confusion, not sure why the hell she'd even _brought_ this to me. And, of course, I felt like an idiot for jumping to the worst possible conclusion, for assuming that something _had_ to go wrong after the last few days of perfection, because that was how my life had always been.

"Just tell them I'm too busy," I shrugged, the leather creasing pleasantly, "I can't meet with everyone who wants an audience."

"I know," she said quickly, "and normally that's what I'd do, but this one is...um...well she came to the base camp on one of the shuttles. She was in one of the first districts we helped evacuate, and...um..."

"Traynor," I deadpanned, willing her to hurry it up so I could leave.

"She says she's your mother," she blurted. I felt my face freeze in place, my legs filled with lead, and all it was all I could do to remember how to breathe. "That's...that's why I came to you."

"That's bullshit," I said with a shrug as soon as I remembered myself, pushing down sudden nausea, "my mother's _dead_. She died when I was a kid. It's just some woman who wants a free ride. Tell her she's a sick bitch for trying to get to me that way."

"Well…" Traynor wet her lips, her hands wringing together as though she were _extremely_ uncomfortable. Anxiety began to swirl tempestuously in my stomach, and I wished I'd eaten something today. "You see, I'm not so sure she _is_. Dead, I mean. I know there's no living family listed on your record, but…she kept insisting, and she wouldn't leave, so I had them take her to a room in the base camp, and got EDI to do a quick scan of her DNA to get an identity, and…it seems to be a match. A probable match, at least. To you. I mean it _could_ be a fluke or a mistake, and there _are_ ways to fool results, but…I thought I'd better tell you, just in case. I haven't told anyone else. No one else knows."

I took a deep, calming breath and forced my whole stance to be the picture of calm and indifference. "So where is she? The main base?"

"Yes," Samantha nodded quickly, her voice finally slowing down, "I put her in an interrogation room as it's probably the most private area available. They're waiting for word from one of us – they don't know what it's about. The woman is calling herself Isobel Harper, and the identity we got from the scan matches the name, though there's not much information. Does the name mean anything to you?"

"No," I lied, driving my hands into the pockets of my jacket to stop them from shaking, "it doesn't."

It had been so long since I'd heard that name. She must have gone back to using it, the surname she'd passed on to me, the one I used to write in school books on the days when I actually managed to turn up, in dirty hair and dirty clothes, making excuses and learning too early how to lie to cover up my mother's many, _many_ fuckups. The sound of the name on Traynor's lips – innocent, ignorant – made long-forgotten memories suddenly _real_ and whole, thudding into my mind like bullets from a gatling gun.

Loyalty is a strange thing when you're a child. You don't know any better. Desperate for love, you cling on to what you have, tell yourself it's worth something because you're too young to deal with the simple, crushing reality that what you have is utterly _toxic_. And after, you'd look back at what you had and wondered why the hell you didn't leave as soon as you could walk, why you thought _anyone_ was worth your love or your tears when all you got in return was _pain_.

Or maybe that was just me.

"If you want," Traynor started carefully, "I can send her away. It's no trouble. I just…thought you should know."

I straightened my back, half of me wanting to never, _ever_ see her again, to pretend she'd never existed, and the other half insisting that I was thirty two years old and those days were behind me and now I'd _made_ something of myself and the least I could do was show her what I'd done, throw it in her _face_ and demand that she recognise the strength and skill I'd grown into.

A hidden part of me, deep down, whispered that she was my mother. And that she must have loved me. Once upon a time.

I didn't even know if it was really her. Maybe she _was_ dead and this _was_ just an imposter.

"It's fine," I shrugged, "I'll go see her, find out why the hell she's impersonating a dead woman. Just don't tell anyone, I don't want them thinking…you know." Traynor nodded quickly, and it occurred to me that she was far, far smarter than her shy manner let on, and that she probably hadn't bought a single word of my bullshit. Gritting my teeth in private humiliation, I followed her off the ship and to the base a short walk away. Soldiers saluted me as I passed by, and I nodded at each one of them in acknowledgement, the embroidery of my medals brushing reassuringly against my neck. That kind of recognition steeled me for what was to come, and when I entered the building I did it as an Alliance Commander and an N7, not the frightened, desperate little girl I had once been. If nothing could hurt me out on the battlefield, there sure as hell wasn't a damn thing that could hurt me in _here_.

And then, outside the door to the interrogation room, I paused with my hand hovering over the handle. I'd intended to push how I felt to one side and walk in like I owned the place, treat this as I would any other meeting with someone who had pissed me off, and I'd send her packing in a way that made it perfectly clear that I'd gotten over everything she'd done. But there was a display to one side, a display which would show the feed from the camera in the corner of the room, and…I don't know why I didn't just walk in. Maybe I was looking for an excuse to stop in my tracks, to delay the meeting. All I knew was that before I could stop myself I was taking my hand from the door and pressing the button at the bottom of the display. The image crackled into life.

A torrent of emotions closed around my insides like a vice as I saw a woman I recognised instantly as my _actual, living_ mother staring up at me through the lens, not even knowing I was there. She was still beautiful, still lovely with her mane of wavy, dark hair and chiselled features. But to me, her face was the sound of screaming, of glass breaking, neighbours pounding on the walls for quiet, of doors slamming and that same face sobbing late into the night or raving incomprehensibly with her eyes clouded over. Looking at her now, and even back then, you'd never believe she was capable of such callousness, such _insanity_.

My throat felt tight, burning with something I didn't understand how to stop.

I remembered how I'd put a blanket around her when she didn't make it to bed, sometimes. I thought it would make her love me as much as I'd loved her.

I'd thought if I just loved her enough then things could go back to how they were when I was small.

Back then there had been a man, a man who I knew wasn't my father because his skin was a deep, dark brown, almost purple, and he had been…kind to me. He'd play with me, treat me like his own, but it hadn't lasted. My mother had started her worthless fucking life as an addict, and you could never really cure an addict. You couldn't trust them, either. Not really. Not in the city I was born where a relapse lurked around every corner, and her mouth was always full of excuses. I remembered how he'd shout that he didn't believe her, how she'd _scream_ back at him and hurl things across the room in a blind fury. Eventually, he'd stopped trying to make things work, he'd stopped coming back and things took a dark, ugly turn.

My hands were shaking, trembling by my sides and I couldn't stop them. I stared straight at the image in front of me as she turned from the camera and paced to the other side of the small room.

Once, with her pupils eclipsing the forgotten colour of her eyes, she'd told me it was _my _fault he'd left, that he'd _hated _me and that she hated me too for ruining things. She told me that she wished she'd never kept me. That I'd ruined her life. And I'd believed her. Maybe I still did. But back then I had a fierce devotion to her, as children do. I kept holding tight to the fiction that if I only kept _trying_ hard enough, things would get better and she would love me back. But it never changed. It only got worse.

I looked at her pixelated face, at her dark, hollow eyes, and I knew at _once_ that this was something I just couldn't deal with. Not now. Maybe not ever. I'd gotten so used to lying to everyone, to locking these things away for good, and now they were back in full force, crashing over me like a tidal wave, and I couldn't escape from those pictures in my head, but I could sure as hell escape from _her._ I felt myself taking a step back, I felt myself turning from the screen, and all my medals and bravery and the _incredible_ things I'd done since I'd seen her last were wiped away as I marched down the corridor, just needing an escape.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

Shepard must have been busy, I decided. Or maybe she still wasn't back yet, even though the woman on the other end of the radio at the base camp said we were the last squad to return. That would explain why she hadn't answered either of the short messages I'd sent to her omnitool, and why I couldn't see her even as the shuttle landed outside the Normandy and I scanned the displaced civilians for any sign of her distinctive armour.

Dismissing the squad that James and I had led through the thick of the fighting, I boarded the ship and went through the usual routine of debriefing, changing back into fatigues, and putting my weapons and armour away. I took my time, but there was still no sign of her. It was odd, I thought. The mission had been a fantastic success with minimal casualties, and I'd expected her to be at least _visible_, if not actively parading around the place. Bringing up my omnitool, I checked to see if she'd sent a reply I'd somehow missed, but there was nothing.

In the War Room I found Samantha Traynor furiously typing at a console, her head down as though she were trying to actively avoid eye contact. I asked her offhandedly if she knew where the Commander was, and she replied with a strained voice that she didn't. Even if it hadn't been Traynor's _job_ to know where Shepard was at all hours, I'd have known she was lying. But _why_?

"Did she come back on the Normandy?" I tried again.

"She came back just under an hour ago, but she got called away. Some important business." She gave me a helpless little shrug, as if to say I really shouldn't be worried and that she'd very much like this conversation to be over. If I were still Shepard's Lieutenant, that'd be one thing, but I outranked her now, and I'd be damned if I'd let myself be stonewalled.

"What kind of business?" I persisted.

"Uh…Spectre business?" It wasn't an answer, it was her asking me to please believe it. Traynor was a damn good analyst, and smart as hell, but there was a reason she wasn't an agent. Deception didn't come to her easily, and the fact that she felt the need to lie made me concerned.

"I'm a Spectre too, Traynor," I said firmly, "And I don't like being lied to."

"I..." her face fell, her hands wringing together nervously, "oh dear, it's just...I shouldn't tell you. It's personal business."

"_Personal_," I echoed in disbelief. We were in a colony in the ass-end of the galaxy, and everyone that Shepard knew was either dead, on board, or in the military. What kind of _personal_ business could she possibly have?

"Yes," she nodded decisively, as though she thought she were on to a winner with that one, "personal."

"Traynor, she's not wearing her commlink or picking up her messages," I said quietly even though we were the only ones in the room, "If something's happened you _need_ to tell me."

Her brows drew together with some kind of internal dilemma, "I...I'm sorry," she said, looking up at me as though she were doing something horrible and hated it, "I said I wouldn't. She…she asked that I-"

"Specialist Traynor," EDI said suddenly, her voice coming straight from Traynor's omnitool, "Shepard's biolink indicates highly elevated stress levels. She is in no immediate danger, but Major Alenko may be able to help matters. I would advise he be informed of the situation, despite the Commander's wishes."

Traynor looked down at her omnitool in confusion, her face screwing up in conflict before she glanced up at me.

"If she asks," Traynor said resolutely, "I didn't say a word, okay?"

I nodded, "Of course."

"A civilian came to the ship during the mission and demanded to see the Commander. When I tried to get her to leave, she said she was...um...she said she was Shepard's mother. A DNA scan indicated she could be right." I went cold. Whatever I'd been expecting, that sure as hell _wasn't _it. "The Commander went to see her at the base and...well it was about half an hour ago. I haven't heard from her since. I…don't really know what to do."

Understandably, Jena had always been tight-lipped about her childhood. All I knew about her mother and their relationship was that she had been a violent addict, abusive and neglectful, and that Jena had run away before she was even ten years old. I still could barely believe it had actually happened. Not because I didn't think it was true, but because it was…it was like a horror story. Something that happened to _other people_, not the woman I knew and loved, the strongest, fiercest, most indomitable person I'd ever met. She never told people, she said, because not only did she not like to remember it, but because she hated the idea that she was a victim, even if every scrap of information she'd given me suggested that word would fit.

Her childhood, the things she'd been through…they were unimaginable. They'd forged her into the woman she was today – the one that was saving the galaxy – but part of me thought that nothing was worth the life she had lived. And now the woman that had put her through hell was _back_, but for what? Why? And why _now_? It didn't make any sense.

I had to find her.

"Okay," I said calmly, "I'll go. Don't tell anyone else – whatever it is, I can handle it. Just keep things going until we get back."

"Yes, Major," she nodded, looking relieved now that it was out of her hands, "Thank you."

I barely stopped to think as I made my way to the base, walking quickly and single-mindedly as though I had to be somewhere _yesterday_. EDI had given me a location marker on Shepard using her biolink, and I followed it down a slim corridor with interrogation and meeting rooms along one side. That was when I saw that one screen was on, and as soon as I glanced at it, I saw _her_. Not Jena, but something close. It was the strangest thing. Her face was fuzzy, but now that I knew their relationship, the resemblance was obvious. She had the same dark hair, straight brows and proud, defiant features, but the older woman had sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, and none of Jena's fire. So it was _true_.

Looking at her, I felt conflicted – on the one hand she was capable of things that made me feel sick, but on the other, she'd brought the woman I loved into this dark and lonely world. I glanced down at the location marker and saw that Jena hadn't gone far. Tearing my eyes away from the screen, I found the room after a short walk. She'd locked it, but not well, and it took me thirty seconds to override the encryption. It was an office of some sort, and I saw her at once by a slim window, her hands braced on the sill as she leaned out, breathing heavily, every muscle in her body tense and aggravated.

"Jena," I called, and she whirled around in surprise, as though she hadn't even heard me come in, her eyes wide and nervous, tinged with trauma. Her lips parted as though to speak, but she shut them just as fast, and stared at me anxiously, waiting for me to explain myself. I watched her hands clenching into fists, over and over. "EDI told me about…" the words 'your mother' died in my mouth. It didn't seem right, knowing what that woman had done. "…you know."

"I can't see her," she said quickly, her voice hoarse, "I can't—I can't look that woman in the face. I know it's been over twenty years, but…the things she…I can't look at her again. I just…I…"

I saw the panic rise up in her face and with a few strides I crossed the room and gathered her unresisting body into my arms. Her fingers dug into my back and I felt her breath hot and fast on my neck as she buried her head against my shoulder.

"It's okay," I murmured, not entirely sure it was true, "It'll be okay." I wove a hand into the hair at the base of her skull, skimming over the stubble that was now growing out until I found the two pressure points behind her ears and massaged them gently. I felt the tension ease from her arms, though her fingers were still claws.

"It's not okay," she whispered back, "It's…I don't know what it is. I should tell her to go to hell, but I can't even face her. But if I don't, then…then I'll just know that she's alive and out there somewhere and knows about me, and…oh _god_, I just—"

"Do you know why she's here? Did she say anything about why she's here _now_?"

Jena shook her head, arms still tight around me, "I don't know," she mumbled, "Maybe she lives here, maybe she recognised me after all these years, I don't fucking know. I don't know what she wants, and I'm—" she broke off and stepped back from me, her hands coming up and raking through her hair, "I mean…I know it won't be anything good. It won't be because she's sorry, nothing like that. She was never kind to me for the sake of being kind – it was always just because she felt guilty or she was trying to get me to do something."

I stared at her face, the pain in those bright eyes, and I had no idea what I could do or say to make this better. Sometimes, I thought, the best thing you could do was just shut up and listen.

"And, y'know," she continued after a while, "I've been trying to convince myself that _maybe_ she's sorry, _maybe_ she wants a reconciliation, but as soon as I think of that, all I remember is how when other kids were in school I was just trying to keep her _alive_ and she didn't even _care_. She's not here because she _ever_ cared about me, because she _never _did. Not really. Not how you're supposed to care about your own child. She was…there was something _seriously_ fucking wrong with her. But back then I just…didn't know that." She looked down at her hands, a thumb rubbing obsessively over an old scar on her palm, as though she could wipe clean history itself. I didn't want to pull them apart, so instead I settled for covering her hands with mine, a calming gesture that stopped the scratching but not the slight tremor I felt through her body.

"What made you finally leave?" I asked hesitantly, willing her to look me in the eyes, "What happened?" Even as I spoke, I realised I didn't want to know the answer. I didn't want to know what could have been worse than what the child inside the woman in front of me had already dealt with in her young life. I didn't want to have that image kicking around my head, or to have her make it all _real_ by saying it out loud. The things she said she'd never told _anyone_ else.

"I…I didn't leave," she said quietly, shame woven through her voice that broke my heart to hear, "I ran away before, but I always came back. I thought that even if she hated me, she still_ needed_ me, you know? And then, I…I don't remember what happened. Not completely. She was driving me to school, don't know why, and she…she must have been coming down or something, but suddenly her mood just _switched_ and she started screaming at me. She was saying all this horrible shit, and I…I was trying, I remember, I was trying to get her to stop, to slow down, but she was so goddamn paranoid that she…fuck, I don't know what she thought." Her mouth shut tightly, lips a thin, pale line as though the next words were straining behind her teeth but she didn't want to let them out to dirty the air.

"Jena," I said softly, stroking my thumb over the pulse jumping at her wrist, "what did she do?"

"She pushed me out," she said simply, raising her eyes to mine at last and staring at me as though she were about to ask how the hell I could explain _that_ away. "She just shoved me, and she swerved, and the locks on the door were broken so I just…fell, and I rolled, and when I got back up she was still driving away. And…I never saw her again. I was eight years old, Kaidan. _Eight_. I mean…can you even imagine how _fucked up_ you have to be to do that to a _kid_? Hell, she could have killed me, and she wouldn't have cared. She probably saw it happen, thought 'one less thing to worry about', and forgot all about it."

Through her eyes, I saw it happen, and it _hurt_. She looked at me now, pale, drained, utterly defeated, and when she spoke again, there was a kind of resignation in her voice. Like she shouldn't have expected anything less.

"So…no," she said simply, "I didn't leave. She threw me away first."

"I…" I tried, but I couldn't speak. My hands felt stiff with rage. I'd grown up on Earth too. When she was eight, I'd been ten, and my life had been pretty damn great. I hadn't known things like that could _happen_, not to someone even younger than me, and not to someone I'd grow up to love. In the times before, when she'd alluded to her past, it was always with a shrug, brushing it off, saying flatly that people like her were forged in fire and brimstone, not comfort. But I hadn't known. I hadn't known it would be so…ugly. "That's just…horrible."

"I told you, didn't I?" she snapped, snatching her hands back and crossing her arms tight across her chest, suddenly defensive, "I told you she was a total _fucking_ mess. So I…I guess I just decided she was dead. It was easier. But _now_…" she lifted her arms in a helpless shrug, her brow still drawn together in an internal struggle.

"Now she's back," I said slowly, "and you don't know if you should confront her or just keep believing she's dead."

She nodded, teeth grating over her bottom lip in agitation, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I _know_ I don't want to see her, I don't want her to even know I'm alive, but she _does_ and she's _here_ and…I don't know if I can just…_ignore_ that."

"What are you afraid of?" I saw something in her recoil at that idea, and I continued quickly, "Jena, you were a _kid_. It's okay to have been afraid of her, it's okay to _still_ be afraid of her, even now. That kind of stuff sticks with you – it doesn't have to be logical, it doesn't have to make sense."

"I…" she sighed, a painful sound, "I don't know what I'm afraid of. Everything, I guess. Everything she made me feel. I'm afraid she'll prove me right. I'm afraid of…of feeling like that again. I don't…I don't know." She looked up at me, her face a mask of torment and indecision, "What should I do?"

Normally I would have told her it was her own decision, that no one could make it for her, but this was…different, somehow. And now, looking at her and remembering who she was and what she had already overcome, what she had _yet _to overcome, I knew what she had to do.

"I think…you have to see her. At least once. You don't have to have some heartfelt reunion, you don't even need to be _nice_ to her. You're the most powerful woman in the galaxy, now – she can't ignore that and she sure as hell can't take that away from you. I think you need to see her, just so you can look her in the eye and say that no matter what she did to you, no matter what _anyone_ did, you've survived, you've succeeded, and you're here now, stronger than ever. I think…I think that's what you should do."

Her head bobbed up and down slowly, a parody of a nod, as though she wanted to agree but something inside her wouldn't let it happen.

"I just…I don't know what it is, I just keep thinking that it must have been my fault, somehow, something I did, some kind of _flaw_ right at the heart of who I am," I opened my mouth at once to insist that it wasn't, but she held up a hand to silence me, "And I _know_ that's total bullshit, I _know_ I was just a kid, but that doesn't change how it feels. I never…I mean…I never had time to get over it. I just locked it up in my head, because I didn't want to admit that any of it happened. But it did. And seeing her here, it's just a reminder that I came from _that_. From _trash_. However hard I fight, however far I run, I _can't_ escape that."

"But it…" I had no idea what to say. "You're…you're so much more than that, Jena. You're more than what happened to you, and you've _made_ yourself who you are today. Despite everything, you're still here, still alive. And…hell, today we just saved an entire colony from getting wiped out, and it was because of _you_. You can't forget that. Whatever happened to you before, you can't forget that who you are _now_, twenty years later, is someone who is strong, powerful and confident as hell. You don't let _anyone _stand in your way or tell you what to do. And…there's something else too. You're not just those things, you're also _kind_. The world never showed you any kindness, but you still have some to give. You have so much compassion inside you, and you might try to hide it, but I _know_ you. And you, Jena, _you_ can do this."

I brought my hands up to cup her face, forced her to look at me even though I could see her eyes brimming with pain, wanting to reject everything I said and crawl inside herself again. I wouldn't let it happen.

"_You_ can decide what happens here," I said slowly, making sure she was taking it all in, "You're in charge. Now what do you want?"

She closed her eyes, her face almost peaceful. "I…want to box up that room and fire it directly into the nearest star so I don't have to look at or think about her ever again," she said simply, sadly, and when she opened her eyes I knew that it was the cold, hard truth, "but failing that, I just…I don't want her in my life. That's all I know. I don't want to fix things, I don't even want to try. She doesn't deserve it. And I…" she let out a quivering breath, lips hanging open as though she had finally figured something out, "…I deserve _better_."

"Of course you do," I sunk a hand into her hair, the other curling around her neck as I pressed a kiss to her temple, "You don't have to have her in your life, Jena, you never have to see her after today."

"But you still think I should talk to her," she murmured, but there was steel creeping back into her tone.

"I do. Even if all you want is to walk in that room and tell her to go to hell, I still think you have to see her. You need to see her just to know that there isn't a damn thing she can do or say to hurt you anymore."

"You're…right," she let out a bitter laugh as she stepped back and pulled a hand through her hair, "I know you're right. You're_ always_ fucking right."

She sighed, looking up at me with every one of her masks stripped away. For that moment she wasn't the neglected, miserable child she'd been, or the steel-eyed Commander she'd become. She was _Jena_, the beautiful, stubborn, kind-hearted, _frustrating_, spectacular woman I'd fallen in love with.

And in a heartbeat she took a step forward, grabbed my head with both hands, leaned up and kissed me _hard_.

"Thank you," she whispered against my lips, "I mean it."

"Any time," I replied, breathing her in and, once again, feeling amazed that the patchwork of pain that had been her life had come together in such a way as to put her in my arms at this very moment.

I unlocked the door, and watched as she took a deep breath that rippled up through her entire body and made her seem taller, stronger, filling the room with an aura that came from the one and only Commander Shepard. In that hard voice of hers I knew so well, she told me to wait for her back at the Normandy before striding purposefully towards the interrogation rooms.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

I felt light-headed as I made my way back to the ship. Like when you're in heavy armour for _far_ too long and you finally take it off and it's like your entire body could just _float_ off the ground if you let it. It was strange. I'd done such a simple thing, but for some reason walking back aboard the Normandy felt like walking out of prison.

I'd seen my mother. I opened the door feeling like the champion I was, and I'd expected to be filled with rage at the very sight of her, I thought I'd want to scream, to accuse her of being pure fucking evil, but instead I'd looked at the grey streaked through her hair, the deep wrinkles, and all I'd felt was pity. Her eyes had been hollow and dark, telling stories of a life hard-lived and a body abused by herself and others. I'd noticed, dimly, that they were just a few shades darker than mine.

We'd spoken, but this time I was in charge. I wasn't her carer any more, I wasn't even her daughter, I was a self-made woman and I had earned the right to make myself heard. She'd tried to reel me in, of course, tried to ignore it all and pretend that she'd done nothing wrong, that she hadn't _forced_ me to leave, but I could still see old track marks on the inside of her elbows as her bony fingers clutched her arms tight, and I could hear the lies in her voice as she said that she'd tried to find me, and her words had landed on me like snowflakes melting on the ground.

I listened to her, and all I could feel was pity. Pity, and disgust that I'd ever let myself feel _anything_ for her. My entire life, I'd thought it was my fault that she was such a goddamn screw-up. I'd thought I must have been the worst child in the world because all the love I had to give wasn't enough, but it had never been my fault. She had always been that way, and I had just made things worse by making it obvious.

She'd kept insisting that nothing was her fault – the fact that she had nowhere to go now, _that_ wasn't her fault, _nor_ was the direction her life had gone in, _nor_ was the hell she'd put me through. Even now, all that twenty years of reflection had done was allow her to convince herself that she was innocent in the whole thing. A victim of circumstance, of a hard, cruel city that had shaped us both. Maybe part of that was true. But I didn't care.

At first I'd snapped. I'd told her to have some goddamn respect for who I was and what I'd done. I'd told her that I remembered exactly what _she_ had done – even if she'd forgotten – and that I'd never, _ever_ forget it. And then I'd looked at her face, and the pity had come rushing back. She may have been worthless, but I wasn't, and I was sure as hell worth _more_ than this.

After I'd explained to her exactly what would happen now, I'd asked her, finally, if she'd _ever_ loved me. I'd seen it flash across her face, the lie rushing forward, and then she'd stopped, she'd squared her shoulders, and she'd looked at me simply, nonchalantly, as though whatever she had to say didn't really matter.

'_No_', she'd said, apparently tired of keeping up the pretence, '_I never did. I don't know why. I tried at first, but I couldn't. When I saw you, __even when you were a baby, __I just…felt nothing at all.'_

The words should have hurt, I thought, but they didn't. Instead, it was like a veil had been lifted. It had _never_ been my fault, there was _never_ anything wrong with me. I was just like everyone else – _she_ was the one that couldn't love her own daughter enough to just face the facts and _give me up_, instead of leaving me so damaged that I couldn't even ask for help to find a way out. And now, instead of spending my life running and hiding under layers of hate and spite and trying so hard just to _prove_ that I was better than where I'd come from, I could just…_live_.

Walking through the doors of the elevator at my floor, I paused for a moment before going in my room. I sighed, feeling the last of the tension in my body flowing out of me, and I let the thoughts hammer into my head one more time.

I'd never done anything to deserve her. I'd been wronged. It had never been my fault. I'd deserved a family that could love me. Just like everyone else.

_Unlike_ everyone else, I had a galaxy to save. But that could wait until morning.

I opened the doors and stepped into my room, taking my time to look around and realising that I was seeing it all in a new light. And then, finally, my eyes rested on Kaidan, who had stood up from the couch and was looking at me in concern, as though he didn't know if I were about to burst into tears or laughter. I didn't know, either. He mounted the stairs as I walked over to him, neither of us saying a word when I stepped into the circle of his arms, held him tight and breathed him in. His knuckles stroked over my back, a gesture that was probably intended to calm me down, but it wasn't necessary. I'd never felt so calm in my life.

"I told her…" I started slowly, resting my head against his shoulder, "…I told Isobel that my mother was dead, and that I never, _ever_ wanted to see or hear from her again. And then I gave her 10,000 credits to get transport off-world or protection or whatever the hell she wanted, and I left. Just like that. And it felt…" I looked up at him, saw the relief hidden so badly just underneath the surface, and an astonished smile broke out on my face, "_amazing_."

He breathed a sigh that turned into a small, sad smile, a line between his brows. "Good," he said, eyes beaming down at me as he reached up to brush the wisps of hair back from my face, "That's…that's good. I'm glad."

"I'm okay," I said, surprising myself by how honest I could manage to be all of a sudden, "Really, I am. I know it sounds strange, but—"

"It doesn't sound strange," he said at once, "Not at all. There's no right way to feel about something like this. And if you're happy then…hell, it's all _I_ want, anyway."

"It's just…everyone always says that family's supposed to be the most important thing in the world, so I feel like it should've be _harder_ to just cut her out of my life. I mean she's my_ mom_, right? But actually, it was just so _easy_. No matter what she did, no matter what anyone else did, I survived, and I'm living on my _own_ terms, and I didn't want her to be a part of that. It was so _simple_. All this time, and it was so damn simple."

"The best things are. I'm – and I _know_ this sounds stupid – but…I'm proud of you, Jena. I am. I don't know everything about you, but I know what it meant for you to walk in there and tell her those things."

I smirked, "It does sound pretty stupid. But…thanks. I don't know what to think about it all yet, but I'm just…glad you're here." I folded myself back against him and let the stresses of the day melt away from me.

I'd always thought I only ever did things on my own terms, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised that wasn't true. Not always. I'd left the Reds burning, just as I'd wanted, and I left the Alliance behind when I had to, and Cerberus when it was time. All of those things I'd chosen for myself, and now I was an N7, a Commander, on the Normandy and with Kaidan _right now_ because I'd wanted it, but that wasn't all. I'd never been afraid of conflict or of battle – that had always come as easily as breathing to my skilled and battered body – I'd just been afraid of everything else.

I opened my eyes, looked at the way the hairs curled up on the back of Kaidan's neck, a thing that made me want to sigh with joy for some stupid reason, and I realised I was still scared of him and everything he meant to me. But that fear didn't come from me, or what I wanted. It came from every experience I'd ever had which had hammered the lesson home that to care about someone was to leave yourself wide open to having your heart ripped out in front of your very eyes. It meant disappointment, getting cast-out and left wide-open, helpless, screaming uselessly at the sky and into pillows.

And I'd felt it when Kaidan walked away from me on Horizon, and for the months that followed. All of it had only made me want to build my walls higher and higher, shut _everything_ out, but it hadn't lasted. He'd got through to me, in the end, and he was still here. And somehow I _knew_, deep in my soul, that he'd never meant to hurt me, and that he'd never do it again. Hell, he didn't have a malicious bone in his body, it was just that I'd been let down too many times before to know what I had when it was standing right in front of me. I'd tried to hurt him on purpose, just because he'd hurt me by accident, because for some reason I'd never been able to tell the difference.

He'd never wanted to use me or deceive me. He'd never wanted to do _anything_ but…care for me. Something welled up inside me, and I found myself wanting to kiss him and fuck him and go for a walk and hold his hand in public and spend the night looking at the stars _all at once_ _and never stop_.

I parted my lips, "I—"

_I love you,_ I thought, and I felt myself freeze, _I think I've always loved you. Fuck, Kaidan, I'm so in love with you it actually _hurts_ to think about it. All I want to do is lie next to you forever, telling you how much I love you over and over again until we're both sick of the words, but apparently I can't even get them out _once_ because…_

I didn't know why I couldn't just say it.

Maybe there was a difference between believing your whole world had been cleansed of every demon of your past, and having that actually come _true_.

_I love you_, I thought again, my throat paralysed, _And I'm so, so scared of losing you_.

"You…what?" Kaidan nuzzled his nose into the hair at my temple.

"I'm so glad you're here," I said at last, not knowing what else to say.

"I'm not going anywhere," he replied, arms warm and strong around my body, "I promise."

**Chapter 29: Fear** – Shepard's optimism is shattered when a mission on Asari soil leaves her feeling helpless.


	30. Fear

****A.N. Sorry this took so long! Finding time to write has been very difficult recently. As with the last chapter it turned out ridiculously long, so I've cut it in two and will hopefully write and post the next one not long after. Thanks for all your lovely reviews :)

**Chapter 30: Fear**

'_Captain Riley_ _proved herself to be not only an excellent commando, but a brave and dedicated soldier of the Alliance,'_ I wrote, tapping out the letters on my datapad in a way that Javik would no doubt have thought unbearable primitive, '_and I am giving my official recommendation that she be trained at the N7 Academy when this becomes a viable possibility.'_

I re-read the sentence and realised it sounded stupid, but it was hard to write a report that resembled anything I'd actually say out loud. Still, they had to be written, and even if the words weren't flowing, they were sincere. Riley had surprised me with her initiative and skill, and the way she'd looked me straight in the eye without hesitation and told me what had to be done instead of expecting me to know her turf better than she did just because of who I was. She sure as hell didn't deserve to be stuck on some backwater fuel manufacturing colony, anyhow, even if it _was_ vital to the war effort.

That mission had been _close_, I thought darkly. A little _too _close, considering how insignificant it was in the grand scheme of things. It had made me wonder how far I'd be willing to go to win this war, and what I'd risk for a chance of victory. I knew everyone expected me to risk everything and _anything_ to get it done, but none of those people knew who I was, and none of them knew what I stood to lose.

When Riley and her team had been close to overrun, I'd sent Kaidan to back them up without hesitation. I had James with me, and he was _good_, but he couldn't cover the escape of a group of rookies from Reaper forces while shielding them from encroaching poisonous gas, and so I'd sent Kaidan instead. James and I had bunkered down, drawn the Reapers into a killzone and hammered away until there were none left. And then, when I'd wiped the blood from my lips and asked for their status over my commlink, only to find the lines were dead. For a moment, I'd wondered if I'd read the entire situation wrong and had in fact sent _Kaidan_ into the bulk of their forces without knowing. I still hadn't gotten used to the fist of pure, ice-cold horrorthat clamped around my throat when the thought hit me that he could be injured or _worse_. I'd never had that kind of anxiety before. Not _really_. Not about someone as capable as he was. And it was hell not knowing how to respond when the soldier inside you was calm as the ocean breeze but another, louder part was _screaming_ that your entire world might have ended.

It had been fine. Of _course_ it had been fine. The radiation or maybe the manufacturing equipment had caused some kind of interference, blocked our combat sensors and commlinks and left us isolated, but we still found the other team within minutes. I kicked down a makeshift barrier to find Kaidan crouching over a wounded soldier and providing basic first aid, an instinct from his early training as a medic. And he'd looked up at me casually, like nothing in the world was wrong, and the words _I was so worried_ had risen up inside me like an accusation, as though it was _his_ fault that I'd assumed the worst, like _he_ was responsible for the way my brain had twisted itself into knots over the very thought that he might be hurt.

I hadn't said anything. I'd gone straight to Riley and handled it just as I was supposed to, not letting on for a moment that I'd been worried, but I remembered thinking, again, that _this_ was why Alliance regulations on fraternisation had to be so strict. Because humans were stupid, unreasonable, emotional creatures, and all it took was some lovestruck idiot like me falling for the highest ranking officer on board to throw the whole goddamn mission into a tailspin.

I'd done a pretty good job at keeping it all together so far, but even _I_ knew that this _thing_ we had wasn't a good idea. Sooner or later, one of us would mess up, throw the mission for the sake of each other. The stakes were higher than they'd ever been before, and keeping it together should have been my number one priority, but I was slowly starting to realise that you couldn't always control what it was you truly cared about.

"Mrrhhm..." Kaidan murmured to my left, clutching a pillow in one arm as he lay curled up in pain. I looked down at his face, forehead wrinkled up with tension, lips curled back even in unconsciousness, and I put my cold hand on his brow, gently kneading at the areas he'd directed me to earlier when his migraine had first hit. I felt the strain easing from his muscles as he relaxed back into sleep, but his skin was still hot and flushed, so I knew it wasn't over. This one was _bad_. Worse than I'd seen before, for sure. He'd told me it was fine in a tight, slurred voice, even as he'd collapsed into our bed and clutched at his scalp like it was on fire. I was sure I'd seen him wiping his nose as I'd led him, stumbling, shivering, into my room. I was sure there was the suggestion of blood, still, on his fingertips, but I...didn't know what to think about it, let alone how to bring it up. He'd had meds, more than usual, and he'd slept within minutes, but it was fitful, and somehow I knew that he was still in pain.

It was heart-breaking, to see someone you love – yes, I'd finally come to terms with that idea in my own mind, _at last_ – hurting without there being a damn thing you could do about it, especially since I'd built my entire reputation on solving impossible problems. I wished there was a way I could reach into his skull and rip out the source of his troubles, shooting it, blowing it up, _something_. I glanced down at the small bump at the back of his neck surrounded by neat, pale scars, and realised that there _was_ a way to solve the problem, it just wasn't something either of us were willing to do. I needed him by my side to win this war, but I needed his biotics as well. We'd agreed going into this that we'd always be soldiers first, that the _Alliance_ would always come first, and while that meant he couldn't flinch when I charged head-first into a fray, it also meant I couldn't insist he reign in his biotics just so I didn't have to worry how it affected him. But just because I couldn't say it didn't mean I couldn't _think_ it.

He stirred again, still unconscious, and took my hand in his, drawing it closer and clutching it to his face like a lifeline. I told myself it was because he took comfort from knowing I was there, and not just because my hands were ice cold.

_Please be okay_, I thought in total futility. There was definitely dried blood under his nose, and it scared me more than I was prepared to admit. I knew he could handle himself and that he was well aware of his own limits, but I couldn't stop myself from worrying about him. I'd never known what it was like to be concerned about someone like this, as though his comfort mattered _more_ than mine, like I cared about seeing him smile more than I cared about how efficient he was on the ground. It didn't feel good. It felt like there was a part of my body that wasn't attached to me and just went around doing whatever it liked and if it just _happened_ to get itself killed there wasn't much I could do to stop it but it would still be a _part_ of me and it would still _hurt like hell_.

I wasn't too good at analogies. It just felt very..._vulnerable_. All I knew was I was afraid for him in a way I'd never been afraid for anything, not even myself, and I had no idea how I could just push that to one side.

His fingers flexed around my knuckles, and I decided my report was something else that could wait until morning. Right now, there were more important things to attend to. I twisted around in place, careful not to move the hand that Kaidan still held against his cheek, and wrapped my other arm around him, holding him like he'd held me so many times, moulding my body to the contours of his back. I pressed my face to the nape of his neck, felt his hair tickle my face when I kissed his skin, and wished that I could take some of the pain away.

If they could have seen us now, all those people who thought Spectres were so indestructible, I was sure I wouldn't command nearly as much fear and respect as I did when I walked into a room. Or maybe I'd command more. Maybe what this war needed was a figurehead who could spend her days killing like it was sport and her nights loving like it was the only thing she had left. Maybe loving him didn't have to mean I was a bad soldier, or that I'd make stupid decisions just to keep him safe. Maybe.

I breathed him in again, that sharp, electric smell of his mixed with something deep and musky that wove through his hair and made me melt inside. He'd be okay, I knew. Just like the other times this had happened, he'd wake up and act like nothing was wrong, like it was just something he was _used_ _to_, having his brain pierced with needles of agony when he least expected it. And just like the other times, I'd agree with him that it was all okay, and at the same time I'd push all of my concerns about the mission to one side and I'd pretend that nothing was wrong, and between the two of us we'd almost be telling the truth and maybe, just maybe, we'd make it to the end of all of this with our sanity still holding together.

Right now, he was my whole world. In the snatched hours we'd found together when sleep wasn't medically necessary, Kaidan and I held on to each other in the same way _everyone_ held onto the idea that we could win this war. Once it had been a total fiction in my head, but now, over the past few weeks, we'd clawed back the upper hand and I was starting to believe my own propaganda. Things just seemed to _happen_ when I said – we'd enter a mission with everyone at the top of their game, we'd save the day, and we'd move one step closer to winning the war for the galaxy's very survival.

I'd told myself before that it was a war we could win, but I'd known it was just a childish refusal to face up to reality, a necessary act of self-deception to allow me to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Now, though…I got that strange, prickly feeling of a lie you'd told so many times suddenly becoming _truth_. We could actually win this. It was possible. I _was_ different, just as Javik and Anderson and so many others had said, and finally I was coming to terms with what that meant. The plan may have been insane, I may have been outmatched, outnumbered and outgunned, but if there was anyone that could pull this off, it was me.

I would do it. For everyone I'd lost, for everyone who hadn't had the chances that I had right now.

My arms tightened around Kaidan as I felt him tense up in pain, as though I could ride this wave right there next to him.

I would _win_ this war, I thought grimly.

And I would hold on to what was mine.

oOoOoOo

Adrenaline nipped at my skin like bee stings, and my breath felt shallow and cold as the image of the Asari Councillor fizzled out. That haunting expression of _disappointment_ on her face hung in my mind, the slow, crushing realisation that she'd been _wrong_ to believe in me, that she'd been _stupid_ to entrust the lives of everyone on Thessia to a human who was nowhere near as good as anyone had thought.

With clenched fists shaking, I stared at the platform where she'd stood just moments ago as I'd told her that the mission had _failed_, and I felt like if I'd eaten anything today I would have keeled over and retched it all back up. It was like some kind of nightmare where you were helpless and every move you made was futile, like those dreams I had where I ran and I ran but that fucking kid always ran _faster_ and I could never catch up. I'd only just gotten used to the idea that the waking world as I knew it was under my control, but now it seemed like that too had just been an illusion.

Every time I remembered what had happened, every time I realised once again that there wasn't a _single damn thing I could do_, fear crawled down my throat and tore through my body with shame and _fury_ and total, all-encompassing exhaustion. I wanted to scream, to cry out loud and fall to the floor with a tantrum that would shake the very walls of this ship. But that would be pointless, meaningless, _pathetic_.

This wasn't a problem I could just shout at or _shoot_ until it went away. I'd tried that already. And I hadn't even been able to hit him.

I replayed it in my mind for the fiftieth time, the entire encounter complete with every misstep and misjudgement that had let him slip away. _Again_. I looked down at my hands, scarred, bandaged, and felt _disgusted_ that they'd been so ham-fisted and useless today, that they could have chosen this _one mission_ to clam up and betray the trust I'd placed in them all my life.

Thessia was burning. And it was _all my fault_.

I turned from the comm room with a dark, thunderous cloud brewing over my head and a feral snarl on my face. Soldiers dived out of my way as I stalked through the ship, barking out orders and making demands just so everyone else could be as stressed as I was. I wouldn't rest until we'd got back what we'd lost, and I sure as hell wouldn't let my crew rest either. Maybe if I pretended that it was their fault as well as mine, I'd start to believe it and the black pit of bile deep in my stomach would stop stabbing me with guilt with every step I took. When I found myself in the CIC, every crewmember immediately focused on their workstations with intense concentration, and all I could hear was something sharp _screaming_ over every nerve of my neck and skull.

"And _you_," I snapped, pointing at a Private by the elevator whose name I was sure I'd known that morning, "find someone in engineering and get them to sort out that _fucking_ buzzing noise, it's giving me a headache."

"W-what noise?" she replied quickly, too quickly to have thought about the consequences of talking back to her pissed-off Commander.

"That _humming_," I insisted, gesturing to the ceiling where I was sure it was coming from even though, now that I stood still, I wasn't sure if it was from there or the floor or the walls or—"It's like a…a _rattle_ or something," I said, talking to ward off the thoughts creeping into my mind, "I can feel it in my goddamn _teeth_," I looked at her, my brows still low and stern, and realised she was still staring back at me in confusion, "You can't hear it?" She made to shake her head, I could see it in the tiniest twitch of her neck, but she stopped herself at the last second and instead nodded once, decisively.

_Don't you patronise me you fucking-_

"I'll get someone on it right away, ma'am," she said quickly, and just like that she bolted to the stairs, as though desperate to get away.

I caught my reflection in the window behind where she'd stood, and in the blackness of space I saw my scars glowing brightly as they arced over my cheekbone. I looked furious. No wonder she'd run. I didn't care, though – I'd been all sweetness and light for days, it was about damn time I reminded everyone exactly who I was and exactly what I'd been through to get at the head of this mission. Even if I clearly didn't deserve to be here.

What the hell was I doing?

I tried to focus in on the noise that I could feel right in the back of my head, but it would soften and blur like a scratch on your eye, and I couldn't tell where it came from. Maybe I was just overtired. That familiar ringing in my ears was layered over the top, the sound that closed around me like a blanket when I felt at my weakest, physically and emotionally.

There was something about this ship. The Normandy in all her incarnations. I'd never felt a loss like this before. _Never_. Not even when we left Earth in smoking ruins.

Maybe it was because on Earth, no one expected us to win.

I went to my cabin to keep from shouting at anyone else on my side, and found myself at the top of the steps, alone, breathing as though every shaking gasp of air could take all this further away. All it did was make me feel faint and weak.

My hands clenched themselves into tight, tense fists by my sides, over and over again, until my nails had bruised my palms. I wanted to punch clean through that fucking fish tank and watch the water bleed out. I wanted to snap the datapads strewn across my desk in half and scatter them and their useless knowledge around the room like confetti. I wanted the observation window above my bed to crack and shatter until it sucked the air from the room and I disappeared into dead, empty space.

I looked down and saw my dogtags staring up at me from their chain around my neck, the same tags I'd had _forever_, the ones with that stupid fake name I'd taken as my own, and on the other side the symbol of the army I'd _hated_ because they'd tied me down for years, and now they'd given me an impossible task and expected me to do it all with no complaints, no excuses, no _failures_.

If it weren't for them, this would have been someone else's problem. Someone else could feel like they wanted to crawl out of their skin and forget _everything_ just so they wouldn't be guilty any more. They could be the one to stand here and personally feel every one of the people they'd left to die screaming out in betrayal, hear their last words like daggers in my flesh asking why – with all my strength and speed – I wasn't strong or fast enough to save them all. If it weren't for the Alliance, I could have been _free_ from all this.

And if it weren't for me, the first human Spectre, we'd all be fucking dead.

I grasped the tags in my hand tightly, metal cutting into my palm, and ripped them from my neck. The chain didn't break, so I tried again, harder, _angrier, _and hurled them at the wall when they came loose. They clattered down unharmed, a useless, futile gesture, like every '_it's not your fault_' I knew I'd get from well-meaning idiots who didn't understand what it was like to walk around in this body of mine.

Kaidan wasn't here. _Good_. I didn't want to see him. Not after what he'd done today.

My hands were shaking as I pushed my undersuit from my shoulders, down my arms, and finally slid it from my hips until it pooled on the floor. The tight, constricting bra I wore followed it soon afterwards as I took the two steps to the lower level. When I reached the bed, I didn't climb into it like I'd wanted, I didn't even sit down. I couldn't breathe. My legs collapsed from underneath me and met the ground with a dull, muted thud, and I fell forward, my face hitting the mattress and my arms clutching uselessly at the covers.

Every moment, every ragged, sobbing breath I took _hurt_. Everything hurt. I tallied up all that I'd done to get to the moment of truth today, everything we'd fought for in the hope that the Catalyst would save the day, and now…

It had all been for nothing.

We couldn't win this war. _I_ couldn't, and I was sick of trying. My face burnt with shame as I buried it in the covers, feeling haggard and useless and utterly, _utterly_ exhausted.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

"I mean…" Hackett passed a hand over his face, the deep scar seeming darker than usual, "how does something like this even _happen_? How does Cerberus keep staying one step ahead?" Even from the pixelated image before me, I could tell he was in shock. It took a lot to shock an Admiral, but I supposed the idea of the Alliance's new pride and joy being defeated wasn't really something he'd expected. None of us had expected what happened. We'd all been _so sure_ we'd win. Stupid. Naïve.

"I don't know, Sir," I admitted, sounding just as drained as I felt, "Better intel? Luck?" I threw the words out to fill the damning silence, "Whatever it is, they're winning and they know it."

"It's the last thing we need," Hackett rumbled as though that wasn't painfully obvious to everyone here, "After what Shepard's been doing recently I thought things were finally starting to look up."

I looked down at my hands gripping tightly at the railing in front of me, unable to look him in the eye. "We all did, Sir," I said pathetically, thinking of how much I idolised her still, even after this latest…disappointment. "Shepard included."

"How's she taking it?" Hackett's voice was low and secretive, as though the mental state of our Commander was more top secret than anything else that passed through the most secure channel in the galaxy. I supposed in some ways it _was_ – battle plans were one thing, but if it got out that the figurehead of this entire operation hadn't been able to save the day, we may as well have asked the troops still fighting the Reapers to lay down their weapons and surrender. Morale had never been so important, and right now…I knew the Normandy's was at an all time low.

"Not well," I said, and we both knew it was an understatement to say the least, "I'll speak to her when I've got a chance, try to get things back on track."

"Good idea," he replied quickly, as though desperate to give the job to someone else, "We can't have her losing focus. Or _you_, Major."

_Too late for that, Sir_.

"She'll be ready for the next mission, Sir," I said instead, crossing my arms and nodding as though I had it all in hand, just as I was supposed to, "We'll all be ready."

"The next mission, huh," Hackett huffed in disbelief, sounding just as rough as I did, "Got any bright ideas on where to go from here?"

"Nothing right now," I said with a shrug as though something _brilliant_ would just fall into our laps any second, "We've got our best people on it, though. We'll have some better news to report soon, you can count on it."

I couldn't seem to stop myself from lying to his face. Part of me thought that maybe if we convinced the rest of the Alliance it was all okay, we'd buy ourselves enough time to make it true. I couldn't see how, though. It was hard to come back from a defeat this comprehensive.

"Keep it together, Alenko," Hackett said sternly, straightening up and clasping his hands behind his back in a way that made him look every inch the Admiral, "We can't let this be the fight that loses us the war. Hackett out." With that, the image disappeared and once again I leaned forward onto the bar in front, grateful that at least he was the last of the briefings. As we were both Spectres and I technically outranked her, Shepard and I would decide before each mission which of us would report to Alliance brass at the end. I was glad it had been my turn – there was no way in hell she'd looked up to standing in front of Hackett and explaining the situation after today. She'd updated the Asari Councillor while I'd still been sorting out my armour and consoling Liara, and by the time I'd made it up to the War Room, all I'd seen were the harried looking soldiers she'd clearly passed by, all hard at work trying to find a magical solution to our very _big_ problem.

Our problem was that we had no idea where Cerberus were based, what their plan was, what the hell the _Catalyst_ was, how to get it, use it, stop the Reapers, or generally how to do _anything_ that would get us anywhere near winning this goddamn war, and every second that no one came up with a plan, people were dying and time was running out.

And everyone on this ship knew it.

I swallowed, closing my eyes for a moment of relief, but all I could think of was the way Shepard had looked at me on the shuttle while Liara rocked back and forth in silent shock. There was a furious scowl on her face, with a tempestuous mix of terror and frustration and grief lurking just beneath. Every second I wasted down here, she'd be by herself, stewing under that stormcloud of hers. I had to go see her. I'd promised her I'd always be there, through the good and the bad, and even though I knew she'd probably shout at me until her voice was hoarse, it didn't matter. Better me than her, right?

Still, as I made my way to the elevator, I found myself dragging my feet in the way I might have done before a long, brutal assessment. Of course I wanted to be there for her, comfort her however I could when she needed me, but…it was hard to be someone else's strength when yours was being sapped day by day. And it was getting harder and harder to be invulnerable, to remain stoic just so she could break down. And I knew – I _knew_ – that this situation was harder on her than it was on me, but that didn't mean I was coming out totally unscathed.

Before her doors, I stopped and took a long, deep breath to steel myself for what lay ahead. She wasn't there when I finally entered her room, but it was far from empty. The place was a mess, with papers and datapads scattered about like they'd been thrown from her desk in a rage. The glint of light on metal caught my eye and I moved over to where her dogtags lay in a corner, no doubt hurled at the wall in frustration. My heart sank. I picked them up as delicately as if they were a part of her, and looked at the name stamped into the silver. SHEPARD, J. It must have been tough going through a war like this with a name like that, with so much baggage and so many expectations attached. Cradling them in my palm, I walked over to her desk and left them on the side, next to the box I'd given her which remained in its place, unopened, since the first time she'd seen it. At least there was one thing that hadn't been caught in her destructive wake.

I stood still, and realised, absently, that I could hear the shower. Looking up, I saw the bathroom door was closed and locked. That would explain it. Gently, I rapped on the door, spoke her name and told her it was me. There was no response. The shower kept running, indifferent, and a nauseous, nervous edginess crept over my body.

I called her name again, even as I worked at the lock with my omnitool. The basic-level encryption didn't take long, but as I counted down the seconds, none of the images that flashed through my mind put me at ease.

The doors opened, thick steam parting to reveal her standing there, but she didn't move. She looked smaller than I'd ever seen her, hunched over and facing towards the shower with the heat up to max, the water pounding like bullets against her red-raw skin. Her hair fell limp and wet against her shoulders, oily black in the harsh lights. If she'd heard me, if she knew I was there, she didn't let on. Carefully, I moved over to her and turned the water off. She was staring down at the floor with her lips hard and tense, not looking at me as drops fell from her hair and ran down her flushed and naked body to the floor. From behind, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and pressed my cheek to hers, feeling her frame shake with sudden convulsions that she was doing her best to hold in.

"It'll be okay," I murmured, running my hands over her arms soothingly, cooling her burning skin, "I promise, it'll all be—"

"_Don't,_" she snapped, suddenly tensing up and shrugging me off, pushing me to one side as she turned to the door. She didn't even look me in the eye.

"But—"

"This isn't something you can just _fix_," she snarled, grabbing a robe from a hook by the door and wrapping it around herself, pulling the cord tight, _tighter_, as though it could enfold her completely and cut her off from everything else. Her hands, still flushed with heat, were shaking. "You can't just _say_ something and make this all go away. It's _never_ going away."

She stalked back into her room, her arms still wrapped firmly and protectively around her body.

I followed her and tried again, "Jena—"

"Why did you do it?" she asked abruptly, her lips curling back with scorn, eyes blazing, "_Why_?"

"Do _what_?" I demanded in response, knowing full well what she meant but refusing to feel bad about it, "Save your life?"

"You could have _stopped him!_" Jena insisted, jabbing her finger at me accusingly, "If you hadn't wasted time with me then you could have got Kai Leng and this whole _fucking_ mission would have meant something, instead of-"

"Or he could have got away _anyway_," I snapped, my plan to keep my voice level and calm suddenly evaporating in the face of her misplaced anger, "and I'd have lost _you_."

I saw it again in my mind, her scrambling on the ground from where I'd pulled her up from the chasm, shoving me away as she got out her gun and fired again and again, shots that pinged uselessly off the shuttle's shield. A feral cry ripping from her throat before she'd collapsed to all fours in defeat. When I'd tried to help her up, she'd pushed away my hand like I was nothing but a nuisance, and after all we'd been through, that _hurt_.

I understood her reasoning, the idea that her life couldn't be worth more than the lives of all those people who _had_ and _would_ die pointlessly because of Kai Leng's escape. It was the same idea she told me she'd struggled through after being brought back by Cerberus – why _her_? Why did she get to live when so many others had died?

And why had I ignored _him_ to save _her_? I replayed the moment she'd fallen, when the ground had broken from beneath her and my entire world had faded out until there was nothing but _her_ losing her balance and the giant hole in the floor about to swallow her up forever. She was accusing me as though it'd been a conscious choice I'd made, when in reality it was the only choice my body and mind would have _let_ me make. It was easy for her to say she wouldn't have done the same thing – she hadn't spent two years of mindless grief thinking I was _dead_.

We may have worked together perfectly on the battlefield, but in moments like that we were soldiers second and lovers first, and I'd have watched Kai Leng escape a thousand times over if that was what it'd take to save her life. I could live with her being angry at me. I couldn't live without her being there _at all_.

"But the _mission_ comes first, Kaidan!" she threw her arms out in frustration like she no longer had the strength to hold it all in, "We always said that, right from the start, the mission _always_ comes first, but instead of catching him you picked the perfect time to forget your priorities and _screw_ it all up! You could have _done_ it," she shouted, "but you hesitated and you were too _fucking_ _slow_ and you let him get away _again_!"

I caught her arm in my hand and held it tight, "_Stop it_, Jena." Her mouth clamped shut but the twist of her lips was still bitter and defiant. I relaxed my fingers and moved closer, and when I decided she probably wouldn't hit me, I reached up to brush the wet and tangled hair back from her face. Deep inside her wild, frantic expression, I saw shame. "I know you're not really angry at _me_, and you know it too." She flinched, as though she were about to throw those words back in my face, but I kept going, trying to force my voice to be calm so she could follow suit. "You know I didn't have a choice, you _know_ as soon as the gunship hit the pillars, he was going to get away, and short of nuking the city there wasn't a damn thing you or I could have done to stop him. And you _know_ that if it's a choice between you or _anything_ else, I'll choose you – not just because of us, but because as long as you're still fighting, everyone in this galaxy has hope, and without you we have nothing." Bitterly, she looked away to one side, as though she hated the very thought. "We just…we got beaten today," I said gently, coaxing her to look back up at me, "We lost a battle, but we haven't lost the war. Not yet. We're not finished yet. This is just…a setback. We'll get through it."

"I can't beat him, Kaidan," her voice came quietly, brokenly, and when her eyes rose to meet mine there was none of that bravado or fierceness from moments before, just…emptiness, "Kai Leng. He's _better_ than me. He's faster and stronger; I can barely even hit him. I've never met _anyone_ better than me before. I mean," she broke away irritably, turning and pacing across the room, "everyone always says I'm the best there is, and it's always been true – I've never come up against anyone or anything I couldn't beat. I've killed a fucking _Reaper_, for god's sake, but I can't kill _him_. I don't know if it's the implants or his training or _what_."

I wished she would stop pacing and sit down so we could talk about this like the rational, highly-trained soldiers we both were, but I knew that would be asking a lot from someone like Shepard at a time like this. Instead I sighed, frustrated at the entire situation, "Jena, he's got tech we can't even dream of, he's got more backup than we have soldiers, and he's barely even _human_, so—"

"_So_?" she interrupted, rounding on me suddenly, "_I'm_ mostly implants too, _I'm_ barely human, and I shouldn't need any _fucking_ backup to take one Cerberus agent out. It doesn't matter what I've done before, or what he's got on me. If I'm not the best then I'm _worthless_, because it means I can't beat him and we'll never get the upper hand. Don't you _get_ that? Everyone's counting on me to beat him, but I don't think I can, and if I can't then _what use am I_? When it comes down to it I'm _not _the best, I'm just this…this fucking _patchwork_ person and I have _no idea_ what I'm doing!"

"_Shepard!_" she stopped at the sound of that name, realised her hands were raised furiously in the air, and lowered them self-consciously. I crossed the distance between us and put my hands firmly on her shoulders, willing her to take in every word I said, "Don't do this to yourself – Kai Leng _knows_ what he's doing, he's screwing with your head but you can't _let_ him. You don't…I mean…you can get pissed off, sure, shout at me all you want if it'll make you feel better, but don't let him get in your head. You're better than that and you're better than _this_."

It was a bad speech, I thought, and she remained unconvinced, but it would be hard to convince her of something that I barely believed myself.

"But...Kaidan, we're risking everything to find the Catalyst, to complete the Crucible, and we don't know what _either_ of those things are," she said simply, vocalising something I'd never even let myself _think_ before because to let that kind of doubt in would mean the end of every scrap of optimism we had left. But after today, after what we'd seen, I couldn't deny that it had been creeping around my mind. In my head, the woman in front of me was the greatest commando to ever pick up a gun, and there was nothing she couldn't do, but this assassin had beat her _twice_, and with this latest defeat came the crushing realisation that our plan to win this war was painfully simple, and now it had been brushed aside, worthless. I couldn't pretend I wasn't anxious as hell about what the future held.

"And I don't know what the Catalyst and Crucible _do_, either," she went on, "It could all be some huge decoy by Cerberus or even the _Reapers_ – a way to waste our time and give us hope so we give them a _real fight_ or something. It might not do anything at all. That's what Liara said to me, right at the beginning – that these could be our last days and we could be wasting our time on something that sounds too good to be true. Well…maybe it is?"

I looked at her then, her voice quiet and heavy with truth, and I knew with cold, hard certainty that I had no magic words to say to make these doubts disappear, no easy lies to wipe the slate clean. I swallowed heavily.

"You know," Jena said sadly, "there are some days when I think that the only reason more people aren't pointing out that we have _no idea _what we're doing is that as long as the Crucible is still an option, we've got hope. As long as they all believe the Alliance and the Normandy have a plan which can save everyone, they can keep fighting back. No one wants to state the obvious. Because if it doesn't work, if none of this works, then we're all..._fucked_," she shrugged, her voice lifeless and hollow, "It's all over. And I feel like that's the only reason we exist at all – to give everyone else hope."

_And who gives you hope?_ I wondered, _Everyone turns to you to lead us through this, but who can you turn to?_

I wanted it to be _me_ that gave her hope. I'd always told myself _that_ was what I could do – I could be there for her when she needed me, I could be the one place where things were calm and quiet, and I could make her believe in a future worth fighting for. But I knew that wasn't true. Like everyone else, I took too much of my own strength from her to give much in return.

"And you don't think that's a good thing?" I said instead, latching onto the one positive element I found, "That we give people hope?"

"Not if it's unfounded. I mean…" she turned away from me again, like the physical contact was too much, as though she wasn't even worthy of being comforted, and when she spoke again her voice was slow, careful, and deathly honest, "I know I'm not supposed to say it or even _think _it, but…what if I was wrong to cut off the Illusive Man?"

I felt my brows crash down in sudden surprise, not _ever _expecting those words to come out of her mouth. I'd heard her shouting at him before, raging against _everything_ that he was, and I knew that she was done with him, but hearing her give him any credit at all still made me bristle with irritation.

"What?" I demanded, moving so I could see her face, still lowered in some kind of shame.

She shrugged again, the red scars along her forearms raised and flushed from the heat of the shower, "Just _think_ about it. Maybe…maybe by being stubborn I've signed all of our death warrants. Maybe I could have brought him around instead of blowing him off, I…I might have convinced him to help us. Or…" her voice went quiet, and she became very still, like a ripple of dread had passed through her body and frozen the blood in her veins, "…or maybe I should have been listening to him all along. He's smarter than me, I know _that_, so…maybe he's always known what was right. _I_ sure as hell don't."

She glanced up at me, daring me to insist that was bullshit like she expected, daring me to tell her the world was black and white and the good guys were always right and noble and always won in the end, and that I'd always been right about Cerberus _all along_. I couldn't do it. Even the Alliance officer inside me, so self-righteous and honourable, couldn't look her in the eyes and pretend she didn't have a point.

"It'd make me laugh," she said humourlessly, "if it weren't so fucking terrifying. This whole idea that everyone believes in '_Commander Shepard_' and the Normandy, even though I have no idea what I'm doing, or why anyone thought I should be in charge of an entire fucking _army_."

These were the things that could never leave this room, that would tear this ship and the Alliance into pieces if they ever came out. My heart felt dull and heavy in my chest.

_What if we're wrong?_

It wasn't the first time the thought had entered my mind, but it _was_ the first time I let it linger and fester until the question became an actual possibility. Prickles of ice rose along my skin.

"They put you in charge," I said, swallowing my sudden fear like it was bile in my throat, "because you've always been right before. Every time. Your instincts have _always_ been right – about Saren, the Reapers, _all_ of it."

"But there's got to be a cut-off point, doesn't there?" she demanded, "there's got to be a time when I get it wrong, or when I get so high on my own success that I plunge into a stupid, half-baked plan without thinking _any_ of it through!"

Suddenly, I had a brainwave. "What, like on the first Normandy? Where we broke every reg there was, stole the ship and saved the galaxy on a _hunch_?" _When things got so desperate and I ached for you so badly that I was willing to ignore years of conditioning and training just so I could hold you for a single night. I'd do it again._

"But that…" she shrugged, her body tense, "that was _different_. The pictures were in my _head_, not buried in some half-lost plans we can barely even decipher from a civilization that got it _wrong_. And…and back then, if we failed, no one would know that we even tried, because they'd all be _dead_."

"So that's the difference?" I latched onto the second half of her explanation and clumsily ignored the part where every Prothean source there _was_ told us we were just as doomed as they'd been fifty thousand years ago, "The fact that everyone's watching if it all goes to hell? That they'll all _know_ if we fail?"

The 'we' part wasn't the issue – everyone knew this mission had _her_ at its head, and that _she_ was the one who'd be blamed if we failed, but she didn't need reminding of that. She'd had it hammered home enough times today already.

"_Yes_," she said adamantly, "maybe. I…don't know."

"So," I moved over to her again, "what if it were just us?" My hands came up to cup her face, and her eyes fell shut as she leant into my touch, pain and grief etched onto every crease in her skin. "No Alliance backing, no Council expecting us to save them all, _nothing_, just you and me, and Joker, Garrus, Tali, Liara, all the others who'd follow you to hell and back without needing a reason. What if it were _just_ us and the Normandy? What would you do?"

Her head slowly shook from side to side, eyes still closed, "I don't know," she whispered, shoulders drawing together as though she were trying to make herself smaller. Her fingers grasped awkwardly at the front of my shirt, still damp from where I'd held her body to mine.

"_I_ do," I said firmly, holding the image in my mind of the woman I'd seen stride onto the Normandy with so much confidence and swagger and _strength_ radiating from every pore that I was certain in that moment that there was _nothing_ she couldn't do. That same woman stood before me now, and she'd been beaten down and torn open and sewn up, but all that strength was still inside her, somewhere, I'd seen it for myself. I just had to bring it out. "I don't think you'd sit here and blame yourself – I think you'd fight _back_. Against Cerberus, the Reapers, and against whatever's in your head that's stopping you from doing what you _always_ do. You have to remember who you _are_."

For a moment it looked as though she was buying it, steeling herself for the days ahead, but at the last second she grimaced suddenly, looking back up at me with clenched teeth and that feral defensiveness I'd seen so many times igniting in her eyes.

"And who is that?" she asked in a breaking voice, "Commander _Shepard_? She's not even _real_, Kaidan. I'm just this…this broken little half-human _cyborg_," she spat the words, bitterness overflowing, "and I've been lying and faking it all my _goddamn _life. Even that _name_ isn't mine."

"What, _Shepard_?" I asked, confused as hell, "It's right there on your dogtags, what do you mean it isn't—"

"I stole it," she said suddenly, and I felt her hands shaking against me, as though she were horrified and surprised to have the words actually coming out of her mouth, "When I was younger I had a friend, Mira. She got killed, it's part of the reason I shot up the Reds. And then the Alliance drafted me, asked for my name and…I gave them _hers_ because I didn't want _any_ ties to the life I had before, and I never wanted to go back. I didn't know how to live with myself, I just wanted to be _lost_ somewhere, maybe killed on some far-off mission so at least I'd do _something_ good in my life, but that never happened. I just…kept succeeding and getting better and better, and then…you know the rest. You know how I got here. None of that qualifies me to lead a whole army, or to tell people I have the first clue about what I'm doing. And after today I just feel like a…a fucking _fraud_."

I stared at her, struck mute by those words. A name was such a simple, stupid thing, really, but suddenly my perception of her had shifted, like the woman in front of me was a stranger even though I felt like I'd known her all my life. It hit me, again, that this had all happened to her when she was seventeen years old. At seventeen, I'd killed a man by accident and thought my life was over. She'd killed ten to prove a point, and her life had just begun.

She lifted her chin, and when she spoke again her voice was still shaking but now there was a strange kind of pride woven through it, like she refused to apologise for the truth. "My name," she said slowly, "is Jena Harper. My mother was a hopeless drug addict who hated me. I never had a father. I never miss a shot because I'm some kind of fucking _mutant_. By the time I was ten years old, I'd killed three people. By the time I joined the Alliance, I'd stopped counting. And when we stopped Sovereign, it was the very first time I'd _ever_ felt proud of who I was. But…it didn't last."

"So…you see," she went on, swallowing as though every word hurt, "people believe in Commander Shepard, as though she's this magical, legendary force who can pull everyone out of the fire. But I don't, because I know the _truth_. I know who she really is, and I know she's fucking terrified."

_And what_, asked her eyes, burning with defiance, _could anyone – especially you – possibly tell me to make _any_ of that okay?_

"I know who she is _too_," I said after a while, hoping more than anything that it was true, and that the glimpses I'd seen of the woman she was underneath it all, the woman I'd fallen hopelessly in love with, were real. "And…your name doesn't matter to me, Jena. It _doesn't_. And where you've come from, all that pain, I _hate_ it, but it doesn't define you. It isn't what I love about you," her eyes darted up to mine at that word, the one that just slipped out without any thought, and her lips fell open but she didn't speak, "It's…it's just one more thing you've overcome to get to where you are now. Most people don't even choose what they _do_ in life, but you've chosen _everything _about yourself, even your damn _name_." The more I thought about it, the less unsettling and the more _incredible_ it became. Leaving behind your name, your life and your entire identity to start again took a kind of strength most people never found – and since then Jena had only become _stronger._

"You've made your life your own," I continued, "you've looked at everyone and everything that's tried to use you – your mom, the Reds, _Cerberus_ – and you've rejected it all just so you could do things on your own terms. Even…even the _Reapers_ couldn't use you, though they sure as hell tried. And I know you've felt trapped here, or that you're being railroaded, and that it's not fair that everyone's counting on you, but…just remember that your life doesn't belong to anyone else. It's _yours_, every damn part of it – _that's_ who you are, and nothing can change that."

The things I was saying weren't platitudes or comforting lies – they were just _facts_ about her and who she was. Part of me would always belong to the Alliance, to my family and to my home city – even though it lay in ruins – but the woman in front of me was an entity all of her own, fiercely independent and strong as hell, even if right now she was struggling to stand.

"I've…" she started slowly, so quietly I could barely hear her, "I've always felt a little like I'm only here so that other people can get on with their lives, you know? I always had this idea that I'm not a real person. That I'm…a _tool_ or something. A weapon. And it made dealing with everything okay – it made the fact that it _always has to be me_ okay, because I couldn't expect anything else, because I was the only one who could get it done. But after seeing my _mom_, and now this, I just…don't know who or _what_ I am anymore."

It seemed insane to me, this whole idea that the fiercest, most confident person I knew could feel that way about herself. There was a spark I'd seen in her from the very beginning, a magnetism that meant even when I tried to stop thinking about her I _couldn't_. It wasn't just that she was as beautiful as the night sky lit up by a flash of lightning, or that she was kind and strong and made me feel like the most important person in the world, it was that, with all that had happened to her, she just…deserved _more_ from life than uncertainty and fear. I couldn't make this war go away, I couldn't track down and kill Kai Leng with my bare hands, but at least I could be her anchor, one more thing to remind her to come back safe at the end of the day.

"_Jena_," I leaned down, tilted my forehead against hers, and made her look at me even though I could see her eyes were brimming with the pain of being so vulnerable, "You're the strongest person I've ever met. You _know_ that. But…you're also the most _real_ person I've ever known, and…and whatever, _whoever_ you think you are, you're…hell, you're all I've ever wanted. And _more_."

She opened her mouth as though to reply, and her red, swollen lips worked noiselessly, shaking, before suddenly her face creased in sadness and she fell forward, burying her head against my neck and pulling me towards her with stiff, clawlike fingers. I drew her closer, feeling her muscles relax beneath her robe, and held her to me like she was the most precious thing in my world. I supposed she _was_.

Whatever happened next, wherever we ended up, right here, right now, we still had each other. It would have to be enough.

"I…"she started, her voice almost like a sob, and I folded myself tighter around her, "I haven't had a lot of good things in my life, but you—" she pressed herself harder against me, as though if she erased every space between us her doubts were somehow disappear, "you're one. You're…the _only_ one."

"There'll be more," I whispered against her hair, breathing her in, "there'll be _so many_ more good things to look forward to when this is over." Our conversation from just days ago about her seaside colony with the built-in firing range now seemed childish, _pathetic, _almost, but we all needed dreams, something to keep us going forward. This, right here, was mine.

"Thank you," she croaked, "for…for saving my life."

I closed my eyes, remembering once more the moment when I thought she might have been swallowed up by the ground, her life snuffed out just like that. I'd imagined losing her again, the very _idea_ that right now I might not have been able to hold her, and even though she'd been angry, even though Kai Leng had gotten away, there wasn't a single part of me that regretted that split-second decision.

"Any time."

To fill the silence that followed, I told her that it would all be okay. I didn't have the words to prove wrong all the things she'd already said, or to inspire her to come up with some insane masterplan that would save all our lives, all I could do was hope that if I said it enough, if I wished for it enough, then it would somehow come true.

"I don't—" she rasped against me suddenly, sniffing, "—believe you."

So I said it again, and _again_. Because at that moment I didn't know how to tell her that, right now, I didn't believe it either.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

My face felt puffed-up and raw, even now, hours later as I lay in bed, exhausted beyond belief but still wide awake. Kaidan was right there next to me, holding my body close, his face serene in sleep, no doubt dreaming of a world where today just hadn't happened. I wanted to sleep too, let myself forget about all of this for a while, but I knew that the only dreams I had would be filled with the same visions of fire and brimstone and _unfathomable_ destruction that I'd seen today.

If he'd known what was going through my head, Kaidan would have tried to stay up with me, use that calming voice of his to lie to me some more and try to make me believe it would all be fine. But I'd put him through enough already today, so I'd pretended to let myself drift off at once, and it hadn't been long before I'd felt him relax and his breathing deepen until he was at peace. And now I watched his face, the man who thought so much more of me than _I_ did, the Lieutenant who'd become a Spectre and hadn't lost his compassion or his honesty or his capacity to really, truly _care_ about things. I didn't know why I'd shouted at him earlier, thrown accusations in his face and used him to soak up all my own stupid guilt and fear. I should have known by now that when I felt threatened I'd lash out, regardless of who it was aimed at. I just hated how I kept taking it out on him, punishing him for having the nerve to care about me.

We were both stressed as hell, I knew it and he knew it, but it wasn't his job to be my fucking therapist, and I didn't _want_ it to be. I wondered if this was just how _anyone_ would respond to the situation at hand, or if it was just another relic of my fractured upbringing that made me want to push away those closest to me, even though the part of me that was still whole just wanted to…to…

_I love you_, I mouthed silently, bringing my hand up to gently stroke over the silver hairs by his temple, memorising every line and mark and shape as though it were the last time I'd ever see it. I wished I could believe the things he said. I knew he wanted to comfort me, be _there_ for me when no one else was, but he needed comfort too. We both knew – hell, _everyone_ knew – that this, right here, was the goddamn _end of days_. It we failed there was no Plan B, no ace in the hole, just…the harvest. And he wanted to tell me that everything would be okay, or that we could both survive this and have a life, a light at the end of the tunnel, but I knew that, even if I'd believed it once, neither of us believed it any more.

Not after today. I didn't know how anyone could believe in _anything_ after what had happened today.

All I knew, with the strange, euphoric clarity that came after an emotional breakdown, was that it _had_ to be alright. It just had to. We would find a way – I _always_ found a way – and we would get through this. I'd been through enough pain and misery to last several lifetimes, all to save this worthless fucking galaxy, and there was no way in _hell_ that I was doing it all for everyone else. I was doing it for me, for _this_, right here, for the hope that one day I'd be able to experience joy in my life without there being a _catch_. I wanted to live in the galaxy I saved, and I wanted to do it with _Kaidan, _because looking at him now I knew that I was terrified to lose what I had now.

More than that, if I was honest. Today, when I'd been too weak to stop the thoughts from hammering home, I'd realised that deep down I was terrified of _all_ of it. Cold crept up my body, raising the tiny hairs on my arms and winding itself around my heart. I thought once more of the future, of all the things we would have to do, the sacrifices that would still have to be made, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to run away from the fight. I felt sick and tense in the way that you do when an ugly, unwelcome idea just won't leave you alone, stabbing its fingers into every bit of optimism you had left.

I turned away from Kaidan to look up at the stars through the skylight, and I remembered Liara's words from a few days ago, careful and full of implications. Something about how a ship as small and silent as the Normandy could just _get lost up here_ in all this empty space. It was a thought that entered my mind more and more now – the idea that we could just _abandon_ all this shit, screw morality, screw the Alliance and Earth and all the other planets too stupid to defend themselves and just _run away_. That was what I'd wanted to say to Kaidan earlier, when he'd asked me what I'd do if it were just _us_ on this ship. If it were just some insane fantasy, that'd be one thing, but I couldn't lie here and pretend that it would be the first time I'd stolen the Normandy, or that I hadn't spent most of my life running from one thing or another.

I thought about that plan sometimes, and every time – though I _knew_ I wouldn't follow through – a few more details got added just in case.

Kaidan shifted in his sleep, a murmur deep in his throat, and moved so his arm slid around my torso and held me tight. I looked back at him, running my fingers across his forearm soothingly, and thought that he was probably the only thing that would make me keep going. The choices, as they stood, were to fight just as fiercely as I ever had before, or run away. And days like today made me think that the only reason I'd choose the former was because I couldn't look Kaidan in the eye and ask him to give up every one of his principles so we could do the latter, because I sure as hell couldn't do it by myself.

It wasn't a _good_ reason to stay. But it was a reason.

And he'd been right, in a way. All the things he'd said to me earlier – when I'd snapped and yelled and clutched him to me like a lifeline – about how I'd always chosen my own path, how I'd _never_ let anyone use me before. I wouldn't let Kai Leng use me either. I wouldn't let him get into my head. I _was_ better than that.

My thoughts turned to something Javik had said on the Citadel once, when I'd encouraged him subtly to drop the '_you're all fucking doomed'_ monologue and go for something a little more inspiring. He'd told the assembled civilians that as long as just one of us was left, still fighting with whatever we had, then we hadn't lost. Not yet. And I'd been bested, but not _beaten_. Nothing could beat me, nothing ever _had_. I'd been knocked down a hundred times before, but I always got up. I wasn't finished.

Kaidan believed in me. _Everyone_ believed in me. Maybe it was time I started believing in _myself_.

I felt alive, suddenly, _wired_, and I knew I wouldn't get to sleep naturally, even with the warmth of his body pressed against mine. Carefully, I moved his arm from around my body and eased myself out of bed. His hand grasped sleepily at the sheets, but he didn't wake up. Good. I'd asked enough of him today. He needed his rest.

Padding silently over to my desk, I found the sleeping pills Chakwas had given me which I was finally starting to take regularly in order to get at least six hours a cycle. I shook two out into my palm and downed them in one quick gulp, feeling them thud into my empty stomach. It was then I saw the light flashing on my console, the one that said I had new messages, probably containing a couple dozen more briefings to take up my time and energy. I normally didn't check my messages until the morning, when Traynor would filter out the important ones for my attention and leave the rest in the unlikely event that I'd have free time to check through, but I had a good five minutes to go before the pills kicked in. Maybe there'd be good news. Things sure as hell couldn't get much _worse_.

I settled down into the cushioned chair with one bare leg folded beneath the other, and upped the backlight on the screen so it was just bright enough to read without disturbing Kaidan's sleep. As usual, there was a huge list of unread messages, most of which I could tell from the subject line were just pleas for help or information or something else that I couldn't give, but there were a few that stuck out instantly.

The first simply had 'To Jena' as the subject, and was from 'Jessica Frohm', a name I didn't recognise at all. It wasn't unusual for random members of the public to try and make contact, but most didn't address me by my first name. Curious, I opened it and skimmed the short paragraph. Then, my lips falling open, I went back and read it again.

_To Jena. My daddy helped me to write this to you because I wanted to say thank you for saving me when Cerberus attacked our home. You and the other soldiers were very brave. We are all safe now and I hope you are safe too. I hope you can win against the reapers so we can go back home. I am praying for you every night. I hope it will help._

_Jess_

Some kind of pressure prickled down my nose and made me bite my lip. It was that girl. The one I'd been able to save by literally pulling her out of a hole and carrying her to safety. If she'd been here, if she could have seen the way I'd broken down at the _very idea_ that someone could be better than me, she'd have given me that dubious, scolding look again and spoken some six-year-old's proverb about always trying your best, even if you don't succeed, or about not crying over spilled milk and other things you couldn't change. I was fighting for her, too. I was fighting for all of them, the faces in the crowds that I wouldn't remember but who all wished and hoped and _prayed_ for our success. Prayers may have been about as useful as shouting into an empty canyon, but, right now, I could use a little divine intervention. A sad smile tugged at my lips, and I saved the message for later in case I ever felt worse than this.

The next one that caught my eye was from Anderson himself, a personal message he'd sent after Alenko had filled him in earlier in the day. Comms from Earth were shaky enough as it was, and resources were strictly limited to messages of the highest importance. The fact that he'd taken the time to send one to me said that he understood _exactly_ what I'd gone through today, and how it must have affected me. I didn't know whether to be touched or embarrassed at how right he'd been. It was short, but reading the words on the screen made me feel like I was twenty-two again and he was standing in front of me, shouting truth after truth right at my stupid, proud, defiant face right before making me do more press ups than were humanly possible. _Shake it off_, he said,_ and get back up. We all get beaten sometimes, but don't you _dare_ wallow in self-pity about this. I mean it, Shepard, don't you dare. It helps no one but the enemy, and you've got a job to do. Finish this, and finish _him_. I'm counting on you._

With perfect clarity, I remembered leaving Earth, how I'd turned back and said _I'm coming back for you, and I'm bringing everyone I can._ I'd meant it then, and I still meant it now. In my head I'd come back at the head of an armada, blacking out the sun with its enormity, and all the beaten-down soldiers on Earth would look to the skies with fresh hope because they'd all know that Commander Shepard was coming, and she had a plan. I didn't have a plan just yet, but I had the armada. That was _something_, at least.

I hovered over another message, this one from the Asari High Command about the evacuation of Thessia, and warred with myself about opening it. Part of me wondered why the hell they were even _telling _me about that – unless they needed me for another mission, I could hardly do any more damage. But the fog from the pills was starting to cloud up my head, relaxing my mind and making me feel serene and untroubled, and in a fit of optimism I decided the message might even be good news.

It wasn't.

I read the message, and by the time I was done my fingers were digging into my desk. It wasn't even from the asari, it was from that little rat bastard son-of-a-whore _Kai Leng_, and after all that he'd done he still had the nerve to gloat, to twist the knife even deeper just to see me squirm. _Your best wasn't good enough to stop me,_ he wrote, _now an entire planet is dying because you lacked the strength to win. _A few hours ago, I might have thrown my console across the room in a rage, curled up into a ball of fury and shame and cursed the day that piece of shit was born. But now, with sedatives rushing through my blood, I felt deathly calm. Instead of getting angry like he wanted, I remembered the words of a man who'd taught me many, many lessons in the Reds. You can't con an honest man. There's always a catch. And if a man's cocky enough to gloat, he'll be too cocky to see you coming.

And I was coming for Kai Leng. People had underestimated me all my life, and it was part of the reason I'd manage to come so far so quickly. Kai Leng underestimated me too. Without a gunship to spirit him away or Cerberus phantoms dancing about the room, I'd probably be able to take him out. Scratch that, I _knew_ I'd be able to take him out. I was _Commander Shepard_, and that was a name I'd _earned_ with blood and tears and more than my fair share of kills. He would be just one more.

I hit reply, a smirk twisting my lips even as my eyelids began to feel heavy.

_The next time we meet, _I wrote, _I'm going to find you alone and tear you apart. I'm going to save this whole goddamn galaxy from the Reapers _and _from Cerberus, but you sure as hell won't be there to see it, because I'm _coming_ for you. You think you can beat me? The Illusive Man brought me back because I'm the best there is, and I've only gotten better. If you want to kill me you'd better learn how to last five minutes without running away like the coward you are, because next time I won't let you run._

_You've made the most powerful enemy there is, motherfucker. And I'm coming for you._

And then, because I was better than him, I didn't even send it. Feeling cleansed, I closed my console with a barely audible click, and took a long, deep breath. Sudden sleepiness made my head swim as soon as I stood, and I knew it was time for me to draw a thick line under this hellish day. I stumbled to bed, moved back into the welcoming circle of my lover's arms, and closed my eyes.

Tomorrow was a brand new day.

**Chapter 31: Sunset –** With just hours left before an all-out assault on Cerberus, Shepard and Kaidan find some time for themselves.


	31. Sunset

I'M BACK! Sorry for the extended hiatus, these last few chapters have been a pain in the ass to write, and that compounded with me moving in to a new flat and getting major Shenko fatigue meant it took me far, far too long to post this up. It needs a shitload of editing, but that can come after I FINALLY FINISH THIS STORY which will be soon I promise. Enjoy!

**Chapter 31: **Sunset

_Kaidan_

Jena was still sleeping soundly when the call came through from EDI for all high ranking officers to assemble in the War Room as soon as possible, and it was only the urgency in her tone that made me think I should actually wake the Commander up. I'd been lying there for a while already, enjoying the brief moments of peace we'd snatched when all the ship was quiet and still, but they never lasted long. There were always a few seconds after she woke up when it was just _her_ staring back at me and not Commander Shepard, when she hadn't yet remembered who she was, where we were and what we had yet to do, but this time when I brushed my hand over her cheek and murmured into her ear, her eyes bolted straight open, alert, and she simply asked _what happened_?

I told her what EDI had said, and at once she got out of bed and began to pull on her clothes as though we were under attack. I watched her, puzzled by this sudden burst of life after how drained she'd been last night, but before I could ask her what was up she came over purposefully, took my head in her hands and kissed my lips.

"I'm sorry I shouted," she said quietly, her worried brows drawing together in even more of an apology. She didn't need to apologise, though. I knew what I'd been getting into, falling for her, and it hadn't stopped me. Besides, after the past few days the odd outburst of frustration and anger was the least I expected from her.

"Sorry I shouted back," I murmured, seeing her expression soften as I covered her hand with mine. There was so much more we could have said to each other at that moment, but none of it needed saying. We both knew – I hoped – that we cared about each other enough to ride out whatever stress and pain and heartache this mission could still have in store for us. At least now, in the cold light of day, it felt like the total defeat on Thessia had been put firmly behind us.

With that, she turned and left, telling me over her shoulder to follow her in five as though the rest of the crew weren't already aware of the fact that I was sleeping here.

I dressed and followed, meeting Garrus on the way and walking into the War Room to find the entire ground team assembled, all eyes on Shepard who had somehow managed to pull her aura of command and invulnerability back up and was staring back as though she had all the answers in the world. That look of hers had fooled me and others so many times before. It was then that Traynor took centre stage to explain what she'd found and I watched everyone in the room breathe a sigh of relief. She'd managed to track Kai Leng to the Iera system, and together with snippets of information she'd picked up and spent the whole night analysing, she'd narrowed it all down to one planet: Horizon.

At the mention of that name, everyone who'd joined Cerberus with Shepard gave me not-so-subtle glances. Of course they'd know what had happened back then. Of course that would be the first thing they'd think of. When I locked eyes with Jena for the briefest moment, I knew she'd been thinking the same thing. I tried to cast my mind back to that horrific day and remember what it had been like to look at her and feel so much betrayal and horror at the very fact that she was standing right there in front of me, but I couldn't. That day may have changed _everything_, but much more had changed since, and now the only thing on my mind was how I couldn't wait for my boots to hit the ground of that colony again, this time by her side where I belonged.

After Thessia, what the crew needed more than anything was a _win_, and so as soon as we had the slightest lead the Normandy was speeding towards Horizon within minutes and, along with Traynor and EDI, Shepard was putting together some kind of plan. We couldn't afford any delay, and I knew from the look in Jena's eyes that she wanted to personally gut Kai Leng for what he'd done. He'd had a head start, but there was still a chance we'd find him.

When we arrived, James waited by the shuttle while Shepard, Garrus and I moved in. What we found was…unbelievable. There had been so much going on that we'd had no clue about, and finally Cerberus's actions began to make a sick kind of sense. There had been clues along the way that we should have picked up on and used to piece together their grand plan, but none of us had imagined how far Cerberus would go. We should have known long before, we should have been able to _stop_ it, but it had all gone on behind our backs, out of sight and out of mind. At least now we could stop them. The Reapers would take care of the remains of their facility. As Garrus had said, it was about damn time the two of them started killing each other and saving us the trouble.

Kai Leng had been long gone, but we'd been fast enough to save Miranda, and I knew exactly how valuable an ally she was, especially in the fight against Cerberus. She knew every one of their weak points, their strategies, procedures, all of it. With her and EDI's help we had a damn good chance of taking Cerberus down for good. That they were clearly fraying at the edges only made things easier. It had been strange to see that side of them. In the snippets of recordings from the Illusive Man and Henry Lawson it became clear that this project of theirs had become something they could no longer control. Cerberus were brutally efficient – totalitarian, even – in the way they organised their operations, but, as Jena had mentioned cryptically, from the looks of things they'd started to get a little _too_ close to the enemy.

It was Saren all over again – a man so convinced that he knew better, that he could save the world by being too stubborn to do things _right_, and his dedication to the cause had been twisted into desperation that led him down a dark, dangerous path. Regardless of how he'd started out, now it was clear that the Illusive Man had become dangerously unhinged, and of course Cerberus had blindly followed. In the debriefing, Shepard had pursed her lips, eyes focused dead ahead, and told us all that there was only one thing to do with a mad dog.

That was where we found ourselves now, with the beginnings of a plan that was to be the culmination of _everything_ we'd been through since Shepard first activated the beacon on Eden Prime – all the toil and pain and loss would finally be _worth something_ if only this could work. An all-out assault on Cerberus's main base. We'd be making the first move for once, wiping them out so we could take our place at the head of the fleet that would take back Earth and the rest of the galaxy. It shouldn't even have been necessary, this little detour for us to clean up the mess left by people who should have known better, but it _was_. At least the all-out destruction our next mission called for was something Jena was very, _very_ good at.

This final handful of days was all we had left, and it felt like everyone aboard the Normandy knew that every hour was something precious. We all knew what was over the horizon, and all I wanted was to spend that time wrapped up with _her_, holding on to what we had, what we'd clawed back, lying to each other that everything would be fine, that we had a happy ending in store even though all around us there was nothing but _death_.

I could see it in her, sometimes, that burden of command, of knowing what the odds _really_ were. I saw it in the hard set of her jaw or the sorrow buried deep in her eyes, even as she tried to smile back and agree with me that Cerberus and the Reapers were no match for us now, that we were going to _win_. I wanted, more than anything, to take it all away. It didn't seem fair, I thought. I'd fallen in love before, but never like _this_, and now that I'd found her, _the one_, it didn't seem fair that she'd turned out to be Commander Shepard, a woman with more pain and death and misery attached to her life and title than anyone I'd ever met. I could try to protect her, sure, maybe even take some of that pain away, but…a part of me knew that there would be a point at which I'd have to just…sit back and let her do what she did best. Solve the problems no one else could solve.

After everything, it felt like the galaxy was asking too much of her, just as it had so many times before. She'd given so much of herself already, but someone, somewhere, would always ask that she find a way to give a little bit more. Just because it wasn't fair didn't mean it wasn't necessary, it just meant I'd have to find a way to deal with it pretty damn quickly.

And so, I'd resolved to make the most of it. To wring out every ounce of happiness that we could together in case we never saw another sunrise. We had a timeline for the mission at the main Cerberus base, and we'd make contact in ten short hours. The night cycle on the ship had started, and it had been just over an hour since she'd gone upstairs, that ever-present worry line firmly set between her brows. I knew it would still be there now, I could picture her face, screwed up in concentration as she went over the plans again and again, things she already knew back-to-front _just in case_, because she wanted to make damn sure this mission didn't fail because we weren't prepared enough.

She told me I distracted her, but right now I couldn't see how that was a bad thing. If it all went to hell, if I never got to see another night with her, the least I could do was try to make our last few hours into something worth dying for.

Muting the clink of the glasses I held in my palm, I swiped my omnitool over the lock on her doors and walked through as they slid open. I spotted her at once, buried beneath datapads on the couch like she was nesting in last-minute mission prep. She didn't even look up as I took slow, deliberate steps towards her and stopped in front of where she sat, her eyes focused intensely on the screen she held. After a few seconds she mumbled a muted '_hey_', but still she didn't raise her eyes, and her entire manner still screamed 'do not disturb'. That furrow between her brows had been joined by two either side, the right one just _slightly_ uneven, because when it came to a scowl as intense as Jena's, even the best synthetic muscles couldn't measure up to the real thing.

To catch her attention, I swirled some of the whiskey around the bottle I held, the one that was very old, very rare and very _expensive_, but entirely worth it. The sound was rich, inviting, and she looked up instantly, but her face was still stern, like a schoolmistress glaring over the top of her glasses. I watched as her eyes flicked down to the bottle, then back up to me, her lips pursing in confusion.

She raised one scarred eyebrow, "What are you doing?"

Feeling mischievous, I shrugged, "…being a terrible distraction?" The barest hint of a smirk tugged at her mouth, but her expression was still wound-up tight as she looked back down at the datapad and sighed.

"I don't have time, Kaidan," she said firmly, settling into the sofa with the determination of someone who would stay there all night if they had to, one of her bare feet resting casually on her knee.

"Don't have time for what?" I took a step towards her, "_One_ drink before tomorrow?" Setting the glasses and bottle down on the table and ignoring the roll of her eyes, I knelt before her and her legs uncrossed automatically to let me get closer. As soon as she realised what she'd done, she slung the datapad down on the sofa in frustration and ran a hand through her hair to draw it back from her eyes.

"You _know_ what I mean," she barked, gesturing to the piles of reports she had scattered about her, "you _know_ what's coming tomorrow, and I don't have time for just…just _messing around_ and pretending it's all fine when everything's happening _right now_."

"_Of course_ I know what's coming," I replied, resting a hand on her knee, "but I also know we're as prepared as we _can_ be. We all know what's at stake. We're all briefed and ready, you know that. And…and driving yourself crazy over this won't help."

"I'm not 'driving myself crazy'," she snapped, "I just…I need some time to get all this _straight_, and I—"

The protest died on her lips as I darted forward and kissed her, drawing the slightest of moans from the back of her throat. Her hands came up to my arms, maybe to push them back, but instead she clutched at me lightly, desperately, as though she were afraid I'd disappear if she held on too tight. I pulled back, opened my eyes to look straight into hers, and behind that hard wall of amber I saw pure, naked _fear_, something I knew she'd never say out loud and so I didn't either. I didn't say all the things I knew we were both thinking – that no matter how much we prepared, the assault on Cerberus and then on Earth could be a one-way trip for us both, and that the chances of both succeeding _and_ living were…so remote they didn't even bear thinking about.

There was a long, heavy beat when I looked at her and she looked right back at me, and neither of us said a word. There were nights when I'd lie awake thinking it could be the last time I'd see her face when it wasn't splattered with blood or shouting orders behind a helmet, and I'd watch her, eyes dry and aching, until I fell asleep. I saw that same longing in her eyes now, just below the surface – the idea that denial wouldn't help because tomorrow we would either save the entire galaxy or die trying. And neither of us wanted to die. We had too much to live for.

It had been a distant, abstract idea before, something we could ignore, but now it was raw and urgent, and we couldn't push it away. Even if she'd been trying damn hard to bury it under work, I knew better. I knew _her_ better.

"This might be the only time we have left before…before it's all over," I said slowly, softly, pretending that I meant the mission and not our lives, not _us_, "And there's no way I'm spending it anywhere but right here with you. If that means I just sit and watch you read reports then that's fine, but…seems a shame – it's damn good whiskey."

She opened her mouth, and I saw the rebuke on her lips, an insistence that pretending was _useless_ and that there was always more she could do to prepare, but her eyes were also creasing with a smile and all at once her face crumpled into a sigh as she shook her head, a blush colouring her cheeks as though she'd been caught flirting. It didn't fit with that scarred face of hers, or the tough-as-nails voice she used, but it sure was beautiful.

"That good, huh?" she sniffed, looking back up at me as her shoulders relaxed, almost as though her body had finally decided to just let her go with it. The sight of her thinking about something that wasn't the war was a rare one, and I treasured it, even if the knowledge of what came tomorrow still hung over us like a shadow.

I nodded, dragging my knuckles lovingly over her thigh in an absent-minded gesture, "Sure is – 35 years old from Islay. The damn bottle's older than _I_ am."

"Huh," she feigned interest, all the while letting her fingers trail up my arm, drawing me closer, "where'd you get something like that at a time like this?"

"Citadel," I replied, aware that the half-smile on her face meant she was barely listening, "wasn't cheap, but…" I moved my hands down, around to the small of her back and further, "I figured it'd be worth it."

Something changed in the air, and all at once she tugged me closer and our lips locked together again. Her lithe body swelled up towards me as I wrapped my arms tight around her, her fingers sliding into my hair and grasping at me with something close to desperation. She shifted closer, moulding her frame to mine, and at least _this_ was familiar, _this_ was something that we knew how to do, even when the world was collapsing around us.

After all, it was hardly the first time we'd done the 'last night alive' thing. I told myself we'd been wrong before, we could be wrong again. I didn't want to make a memory worth dying for. I wanted tonight to be a memory I could look back on – years later, her at my side – and thank anyone listening that it wasn't the last one I had.

She kissed me with such urgency, and I felt my body respond in kind.

God _dammit_ I didn't want to die. Not with so much to live for.

"I don't think—" I murmured between kisses "—you even _want_ the whiskey."

Jena smiled against my mouth, deft fingers already unbuttoning the collar of my shirt.

"It's been waiting for 35 years," she replied, her voice rich and husky, "It can wait a little longer."

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

I watched the strong lines of his back, the ripple of muscles under scarred skin and harsh lighting when he straightened up. My eyes took their time travelling up the ridges of his spine, over his shoulders, and up to meet his eyes just as he turned his head back to catch my eye, a giving me a look that made my heart flutter into my throat. He was stark naked, and had a body that looked like it was carved out of solid marble. I knew every mark, freckle and scar on his skin, the shape of every swell and dip of sinew around his bones. And still, every time I saw him, it felt like the very first time all over again.

_No wonder I fell in love with him_, I thought to myself, _it would be impossible to have him around for too long _without _falling for him. He's perfect._

The whiskey – topped up with just enough water to take the edge off – swirled around delightfully in the glasses as he walked over, but I only had eyes for the man. I appreciated every individual movement as he strode towards me, entirely comfortable, and settled himself on the bed as he handed me a glass. I wanted to be closer, as close to him as possible, and I shifted so he cradled me in his lap, making me feel small, protected, _at peace_. There were words lining up right on the tip of my tongue that felt like they'd burst out any minute, things I'd only ever thought to myself, and now felt like the perfect time to say them, but when I parted my lips fear curled around my heart again. I took a breath and let the feeling flow out of me. It wasn't perfect, nothing was, but what we had here was close enough, and it was sure as hell better than what waited for us tomorrow.

The blanket was crumpled up at the foot of the bed, a testament to the urgency with which we'd come together, and now with one arm encircling me, he brought it up to ward off the chill as the sweat cooled on our skin. With no words spoken, we chinked our glasses together and took a sip, a toast to the two of us, to the war, to battles fought and those yet to come. A toast to the fact that – right now – we were still alive. The whiskey was fiery and delicious, and tasted every bit as good as it looked.

I wiped the idea of 'tomorrow' and 'fear' from my mind, and let my head fall back against his chest, breathing in the scent of his neck and drinking in every second. When he pressed a kiss to my tangled hair and threaded his fingers through mine, the moment seemed somehow more intimate than any we'd had before.

We didn't need words. Not when we had so much history. Not when we both knew the score.

I took another sip and felt the whiskey warm me from head to toe as it slid down my throat. Above us, flashes of distant stars streaked past. I wanted to bottle this feeling.

"Jena?" His voice broke the silence, the monotony of the engine's hum, and something inside me felt uneasy at once. Maybe it was the worry he managed to lace through those two syllables. Maybe it was the fact that nothing we could say could make tomorrow any less real.

"Hmm?" I replied, not moving, not giving any indication of the fear brewing deep inside me.

"I need to tell you something before..." he sounded hesitant, like the wrong choice of words could send me spiralling, "you know, before..._tomorrow_."

He was right to be careful, but it hadn't worked. In my head, the part of me that knew we'd reached the end was now insisting that _the end_ was starting right now, that all my attempts to delay it, to put it all out of my mind, they were useless. I thought we didn't need words, that we both understood what being together meant – it meant we each had something solid and good to come back to at the end of the day, a thing we cared about that wasn't the war and wasn't death. And now, more than ever, I didn't want to think about what tomorrow could mean.

"Shoot," I said instead, my voice light and casual. I took another sip of whiskey, but his arms tightening around my body warmed me even more, and his fingers stroked over my skin as though urging me to just _relax_.

"I..." he started hesitantly, sounding nervous which in turn made _me_ nervous. And then he let out a chuckle, a vibration I felt through my whole body, and pressed another kiss to my hair, "I love you," he murmured, and something inside me fell to pieces, "I've always loved you. For...for _years_ I've been in love with you, I never stopped. You know that, right? I just...I mean I know I haven't always shown it, it took me a while to figure it out for myself, but—"

"I know," I said suddenly, and I had no idea why, "I...I know you do."

That was a lie. Or was it? I'd hoped, of course, but if I'd actually _known_ then his words shouldn't have hit me square in the gut, made my heart race like I'd just finished a marathon, and forced every bit of rational thought clear out of my head.

And, of course, him saying it out loud had only cemented the true and certain knowledge that I was absolutely, completely, irrevocably in love with him too. I couldn't remember a time before I'd been in love with him. It didn't seem possible that there was ever a point in my life when he hadn't been _right there_ beside me.

I'd thought knowing would feel like validation, or that it would give me some kind of peace, but instead I just felt...terrified.

At once everything was _real_. This little fantasy world of mine, the one I escaped into whenever he was around so I didn't have to think about anything else, it was real too, and it was _happening_, and tomorrow it could all be–

Gone.

Before the words had filled the air like a fog, my love for him – and everything between us – had been a strange, abstract thing, like a dream. Necessarily transient, wonderful _because_ it was limited, every moment of peace made precious because it was so rare. And now...now I felt frantic, on edge, _betrayed_ by everything around me because this _couldn't_ be temporary, this _had to last forever _because I wasn't sure how to _live_ otherwise. It couldn't be true. The end _couldn't_ come. I couldn't have found this much happiness, this much goodness only to have it stolen away, just like before but this time _so much worse_ because he wasn't just some idea I'd had, some secret source of happiness I'd stowed away for myself, he was a whole human person with his own life and dreams and wishes, and I loved _every part of him_ and now that I knew he loved me too I couldn't pretend I wouldn't give up everything I had, everything I'd done, just for one more day of _this_…

But it was impossible, because in seven short hours the call would come for us to suit up, and one or both of us might not come back. The odds had never been in our favour before, but this time the task ahead seemed like a wall a hundred feet tall that I was expected to climb with my bare hands. Even I had my limits.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with concern, and when I looked up at him I saw his brows furrowed together and realised my eyes were stinging and aching with unshed tears. I hadn't even noticed.

He'd told me he loved me, and I'd said a pathetic '_I know_' in return. I was an asshole.

I still wasn't sure what to do. Inside my head, everything was chaos.

I nuzzled against his neck, pressing my body against his, trying to show him how I felt because my mouth wasn't working. It felt like every time I opened it to try and speak, nothing but a garbled mess of ideas lined up on my tongue.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," I heard myself say, my voice a quiet, pitiful whimper next to his. I closed my eyes. "Ever. In my entire fucking life. You're the best thing."

It was true. At least that was one thing I could say for sure – it was a fact, it was objective. There were other people in my life that had done incredible things for me, people like Anderson, the people on this very ship, but none had done what Kaidan had managed without even trying. He'd given me something I'd die for and something that made me terrified of death all at the same time. He'd cracked open my shell, eased himself in, and settled down next to me like he'd always been _right there_. I didn't understand how it was possible. I didn't understand what it was. All I knew was I finally understood how other people could choose to spend their entire lives with another person. It seemed impossible that anyone else in the galaxy could feel what I felt inside me, it seemed like they must all just be exaggerating because none of _them_ had lived what I'd lived, lost what I'd lost and found what I'd found, but here he was, right in front of me, telling me he felt just the same.

I should have known, really. He'd told me he loved me so many times in different words, but I'd never wanted to believe it was possible, because having something like this wasn't safe and it couldn't be forever, not with the lives we led, but it _had_ to be forever because…because why? Because I was shitty at compromises and wanted to demand that the universe make something go _my way_ for once, even though it never had before?

My life had been screwed up, discarded and rebooted so many times that even _I_ barely understood how I'd got here. But I _did_ understand how many twists and turns it had taken for him and I to meet, to come together so many times, to survive, and to fall in love. There had been so many times when I could have lost him for good, or when I might never have even met him, and the idea that the world could have arranged itself in this way, so perfectly, it seemed...

It was too good to be true. I knew it. I knew I was setting myself up for more pain than I could handle, and it wasn't fair.

But until then, at least, I'd have him by my side.

The words _I love you too_ came to me, pursed my lips into the right shapes, but I held them back. He knew, _of course_ he knew, and if I was to get any sleep tonight I had to believe that I'd be able to say it later, sharing the rest of this ancient bottle of whiskey with the world around us at peace as we talked about that time we saved the galaxy. _Again_.

It was a total fucking lie, but I had to believe it.

"Whatever happens tomorrow," he said, and I squeezed my eyes shut, drinking in the feeling of every inch of our skin that touched, "and in the days ahead, _whatever_ happens – it's all been worth it, you know. All the shit that's happened. You've been worth it. Getting to be with you is worth all of that. Every second."

"Don't say that," I tried to say, but it came out as a hoarse, choked-up whisper, "it...it sounds like you don't think you'll get the chance to say it again."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they sounded stupid, _childish_, reeking of a stubborn refusal to accept the way the world was. I didn't care. Love wasn't pure, it was selfish as hell. I wanted it all.

I felt his chest rise and fall as he breathed a slow, steady sigh.

"I lost you once, Jena, and...and all I could think about until you came back was all the things I never said to you. And...don't get me wrong, I want to tell you how much you mean to me every day, until you're sick of hearing about it—" a choked laugh bubbled out of my throat, the tension inside me overflowing, "—but I'm not leaving anything to chance. Not this time."

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. I wished I were an asari so I could just press my fingers to his temple and have him know everything in my heart. But I wasn't – I was an emotionally stunted human who was much better at killing than talking. I drained my glass, leaned over him to set it on the side, and sat up to look him straight in the eyes. There was naked love there, simple and perfect like the whiskey warming me from the inside out. It made me feel like I could just float away into the sky. It made me feel invincible. I brought my hands up to rest on either side of his face, stroked back the greying hair at his temples, took a moment to check that I actually _had_ memorised every one of his lines and scars, and I kissed him like I'd never get another chance. He kissed me back, and by the time we stopped, noses nuzzling together, hands moving over flushed skin, we were lying down and I felt every one of my muscles relax, one by one, as I let out a long, weary sigh.

There were less than seven hours before I'd have to be on my feet again, strapping on my armour and pretending it was just like any other mission. And so we didn't say anything else. We basked in the words that had already been said, we curled up together as we had so many times before, and we slept. Or at least _he_ did. His arm was wrapped around me as though he could shield me from my own dreams and negative thoughts, but my mind wouldn't let me rest. My body felt just fine – Kaidan's touch and a glass of whiskey had seen to that – but there were too many things swirling around in my head that I couldn't switch off. Last-minute thoughts, things I'd forgotten. Things – as Kaidan had pointed out – I hadn't got the chance to say.

And what if I _never_ got the chance to say them?

I opened my eyes, eased my arm from the covers, and rummaged silently in the drawer by my bed for the datapad I'd stashed there a while ago. It flickered on, and I placed it by my head on the pillow so the light wouldn't disturb the man sleeping behind me. And then, without really knowing what I was doing, I typed out a series of messages that I never intended to send. I didn't censor myself, I didn't hold back, I just wrote whatever came to me, the things there wouldn't be any chance to say in the next few days, thoughts I'd never been able to put into words. Someone more pulled-together than I was might have pointed out that it was basically my last will and testament. Something to leave behind, my final wishes in case my worst fears all came to pass.

No, I thought, not my worst fears. The thing I was most terrified of was losing what I had right now, the man sleeping next to me, and you couldn't feel loss if you were already dead.

Still, it couldn't hurt to leave something behind. Call it closure.

I wrote to whoever was in charge, and asked that Garrus be given the Normandy. The Alliance could do that one last thing for me. He deserved it, and if he had a better offer elsewhere then he didn't have to take mine, but it was a gesture more than anything. Something to show to him how much his unwavering support had meant to me through all these years.

I wrote to the people that really mattered, the ones that would actually _need_ closure.

I told James what a wonderful person he was, and how I wished I'd got to know him better. I told Liara that I couldn't have done any of this without her. I told Tali I was so proud of what she'd become. I wrote to Wrex and Grunt, Miranda and Jack, Joker and Chakwas and all the people who had turned the last few years from hell on Earth into something I'd managed to live through and even _enjoy _at times. They'd all left their marks on my soul, every one of them. It was time they all knew it.

I told Anderson that I owed every good thing in my life to him. He was the first person to ever make me feel proud to be who I was, and who made me think my life could be worthwhile. '_You were the first person to ever believe there was something good in me'_ I wrote, '_and I love you for it._'

Was it too much? Too sappy? It didn't matter, I supposed. He'd only read it if I was dead anyway. And he'd know what I meant.

I got to the last person on my mental list, thinking he would be the easiest, but when it came to Kaidan I _still_ had no idea what to say. As if he knew what I was thinking, he shifted in sleep and his arm tightened around my waist, drawing me closer.

'_Kaidan_', I typed slowly, '_I'm no good at this stuff, you know that, but if everything I could say here isn't already obvious then I must have fucked up somehow. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you lost me again. I love you more than I'll ever be able to put into words. Thank you for never giving up on me. Thank you for everything_.'

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough, but it was something. I put the datapad back in its place, settled against the man I loved, and told myself I'd be back here soon enough, back in his arms, safe, sound and happy.

And if that never happened, then…

Well. At least I'd leave something more than memories behind this time.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

The waiting was the worst part. I finally understood what people meant when they said that. At least combat was certain, binary, made up of decisions in the heat of the moment with clear, well-defined goals, but now it was all I could do to keep my breathing level as dozens of scenarios, none of them good, ran through my head. They all involved me failing her, or us all being overwhelmed, her dying and me not being able to stop it.

Vega was pacing back and forth, barking orders at troops he only outranked in experience, and I knew him well enough to know that this was how he coped with this kind of situation. I both hated and cherished every second of this brief moment of calm. I wanted so badly to get it over with, and at the same time all I wanted to do was hold on and make every moment count.

Any minute now, we'd get the call. Hammer was regrouping – the few of us that had actually made it through – and it was all thanks to Shepard. Normally I could say that the missions were a group effort, but this time there was no denying that _she'd _been the one to make it happen, and all James and I could do was pick up her slack. She'd done the work of an entire squad and more. She'd meant it when she'd said there was no room for holding back.

There had been a handful of moments when I'd been truly _terrified_, though. Only a handful, but they were enough to make me feel uneasy now. Like when a banshee grabbed Shepard with its long, branch-like fingers and screamed right into her face while it charged up a biotic attack.

I'd been faster, though. I'd knocked it off balance with a warp field just long enough for Shepard to twist around, get loose, reach her shotgun and blow that thing back to hell, but it was one more of the many heart-stopping moments I had etched onto my mind where I'd been sure I was about to lose her again.

Anderson had come through for us, though, and now we were safe for the time being, but with the calm before the storm came an infinite supply of worst-case-scenarios for my stressed-out mind to work through.

If I was stressed, though, I couldn't imagine what Shepard was going through. I saw her now as she made her way across the battered and rubble-strewn courtyard, I saw that wired, hungry look on her face, felt the electricity crackling over her fingers as though they itched to break some necks. She hated waiting too. A Reaper klaxon sounded in the distance and I saw her tense instinctively. On the way here, every time she'd heard another explosion I saw her teeth grind together as though it were _her_ fault another few lives had been snuffed out, as though every moment of calm we'd had on the Normandy meant we'd got here a moment slower.

Now we were back on Earth, the war was thrown into stark, frightening perspective. Seeing the devastation here was an ugly reminder that when you were fighting for your survival, even a total victory wouldn't feel much like a _win_. Not when there were so many bodies to bury.

I saw her turn to walk across the courtyard towards me, injecting all the confidence and swagger she'd ever had into her strides. I knew her best, though. I knew it was all for show. She'd be fearless as ever when it came down to it, but I could see in her eyes as she approached that she was almost as worried about this mission as I was. Casually, I moved away from the main throng of soldiers and ducked behind a bombed-out building. She followed, and when she finally stood in front of me she even managed the barest of smiles. Something for courage.

"You okay?" It was a question I'd asked so many times before, but as with everything that had happened today, this felt like the last time.

She managed a nod, quick and decisive, "Yeah. I just want it to be _tomorrow _already. I hate all this waiting around. It's okay for _them_," she jerked her head at the courtyard where more and more stragglers from Hammer were showing up by the minute, "they're all counting on me – they think as long as I'm in front we can't lose. I just want to know how this all works out." The words came out in the kind of rapid babble that suggested she was talking just to fill the silence. It didn't suit her.

"Hey," I took a step closer, and her eyes met mine, bright with fear as though I'd just caught her out. I moved close enough to make this about _us_, while keeping enough distance for plausible deniability should someone suddenly turn the corner. "Talk to me."

"I hate this," she said at last, "I...I hate all of it so much. The not knowing, the death toll, this whole fucking plan, it's just...it doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like a plan that will work but it's the only one we've got. I don't know how to explain it. Sometimes I'm unsure but then it all slots into place, but this time...that hasn't happened, and I just don't like it. It feels like...it's like for the first time ever I'm not sure I can do this. I'm really not."

"Jena there'll be hundreds of other soldiers all trying to do the same thing. It doesn't...I mean...it doesn't always have to be you." She gave me a look then that was two parts scorn to one part affection, like I was trying to get away with bullshitting her and she didn't know whether to be offended or touched.

"Yeah," she huffed, "and now we're back to that whole idea again – if I can't do it, what are the chances that _they_ can? What are the chances that _anyone_ else can?"

Too damn smart, I thought. Too damn smart to fall for any of the platitudes I could throw at her, or to believe me _this_ time around as we rehashed the same old conversation about her being the best, and how some things weren't compliments, they were _facts_. She'd never changed her mind about the obligations those facts placed on her shoulders before – probably because she was _right_ – and she sure as hell wouldn't do it now.

"All any of us can do is _try_," I said instead, trading a platitude for another cold, hard fact, "Everyone knows that, Jena. All we can do is try." If tomorrow never came, if we were all killed tonight, at least we'd never know what that failure meant for all those counting on us. Sometimes, death was better than the alternative.

"Yeah, I...I know. I guess. See _this_—" she gestured to the tight, scraped-back bun she'd made of her hair, but I assumed she meant her overworked mind "–is why I hate waiting."

The words '_might be the last bit of peace any of us get_' didn't make it past my lips, and I was grateful. _'I can't lose you again_,' I wanted to say, '_Whatever happens, please, _please _just come back to me. Don't leave me behind and save the world on your own. I can't handle always watching you walk into the fire on your own. I love you, Jena. I love you so much it hurts, and the thought of you not being there when I wake up tomorrow makes me feel like I'm already dead._'

'_Please don't leave me behind. Don't go where I can't follow.'_

I didn't say any of it. There was a difference between closure and just making yourself feel better. All those words would do was pile on the guilt.

At least I'd found the words to tell her I was in love with her. Turns out the right words had always been the obvious ones.

"Y'know," she started, scratching her neck and looking away as though she already realised this was one of Those Conversations she sucked at. I didn't care. I just wanted to hear her voice without hearing her shout orders, "there's not much time left. And...I've got things in my head that I want to say, but I...I'm just..." she trailed off, as though she'd expected me to jump in and save her from floundering.

"Don't say anything," I said suddenly, surprising both her and myself. Not caring if anyone turned the corner and saw us, I reached forward and took her hand in mine, our armoured fingers weaving together, "Not yet. Tell me afterwards, when we're on a beach somewhere, forgetting any of this ever happened. Tell me then."

She tried to give me that look again, the one that said I couldn't lie to her, but she didn't manage it, and her eyes closed as her face crumpled in sadness.

"Kaidan..." she started.

"_No_," I insisted, refusing to allow her to think it was okay to die. I knew the way she thought, and she sure as hell wasn't getting permission from me, "we'll get through this, Jena. We always have. I'll see you on the other side." Her eyes opened and stared at me sadly. I wished I hadn't used such an ambiguous turn of phrase. I didn't correct her, though. If this thing _did_ go sideways and we ended up somewhere _else_, then...even if it was stupid, it made me happy to think I might find her there, waiting, at peace at last, asking what took me so long in that short-tempered way of hers, but I'd know she was happy to see me because she'd have that smirk, her lips would curl up against her will, just as they always did, and...and...

The thought made my eyes sting.

"Fine," she said, her voice suddenly harsh as she grit her teeth together, "I'll tell you later. I'm going to send the Reapers back to hell, just as we planned. And then when this is over I'm going to be waiting for you somewhere. And if you don't show up, Major, I swear to fucking _god_—" she cut herself off and looked away towards something burning on the horizon, and her eyes seemed to shine brighter than ever before.

"That an order, Commander?" I replied, trying to crack a smile to lighten the mood, but she was having none of it. Instead, she just looked at me sadly, hopelessly, and shook her head.

"No," I could hear the lump in her throat, caught the way she bit her lip as she looked down, and my heart felt heavy and weak. I may have become stronger than I could have ever imagined in the past few years, but in this I may as well have been powerless. "It's just…it's me trying to tell you that I…I…"

"I know," I said simply when she didn't finish. I wasn't sure I _did _know, not really – even now there were parts of her that were a mystery to me, but I knew enough. I knew how high every hurdle in front of her was, and what she'd had to overcome to open herself up to me at all. And I loved her for it. "I'll be there, Jena," I said firmly, amazed at how confident I sounded, "Promise."

She nodded, a look full of trust that I really, really hoped I wouldn't betray.

"Stay safe," she said at last, and that one _definitely _sounded like an order. She made to brush past me, head held high and proud, but at the last second she paused, and we stood there shoulder-to-shoulder as she slid her armoured hand into mine. She arched up on the tips of her toes to kiss me, a brief touch and nothing more. She made to pull away and panic swelled up inside me like an unstoppable force. I turned, grabbed the back of her neck urgently and kissed her again, taking all the time I thought I had and more, wishing the layers of armour would melt away so we could be even closer, because the memory of the night before just wasn't _enough_, memories alone would _never be enough_. When I pulled back, breathless, her face so close to mine, all I could see in her expression was sadness, loss, and I would have given _anything _for the strength to take her place in the battle to come. Anything to keep her safe.

"I love you," I murmured again, just loud enough for her to hear it, and for a split second a familiar pink flush spread over her cheeks, eclipsing the pain I felt deep in her heart. She mumbled something in return, her lips barely moving, but it was enough.

Somehow, we both knew that was _it_, the end. This moment of peace had run its course, and the time had come at last. With one last final, longing glance, she straightened, took a breath, and when she let it out she stood tall, the Commander Shepard everyone knew and loved. I loved her more, though. So much more than any of them knew. I watched her turn and walk away, and even though I'd told myself a thousand times that we'd get through this, it felt like I was watching her walk off to die all over again.

I'd done that once above Alchera. To do it again…it would kill me.

But there was no time for thoughts like that. Not now, when sirens were sounding and the last of the shuttles were landing and we had a mission to launch. Anderson would be waiting for her, and I couldn't be far behind. None of us knew what to expect, just that _this_ was the moment we'd trained for all our lives, _this_ was what would make everything we'd been through somehow worthwhile. If only we could pull it off.

My eyes stung. I looked up into the sky, at the columns of fire and smoke and the beams that shot down from heaven, and the thought came to me, unbidden, uninvited, that London really _did _have one hell of a skyline, even with so many of its iconic buildings in rubble.

Jena always said I had to be the optimistic one, for _her_ benefit as well as my own. And so I told myself that right now, today, I was fighting for a future where I could take her back to this place, in real clothes, with real, bright sunlight, and we could just…relax. A holiday. _Shore leave_. We'd earned it. It was one of many, many possible futures, but – taking a page from Shepard's book – it was the only one I'd accept as reality.

I would fight like hell to make it happen. I would fight with everything I had just for the chance to hold her again.

I checked my gun for the hundredth time before setting out for Anderson's camp and the final push against the Reapers. Once more into the breach. One last time.

* * *

**Chapter 32: **Maelstrom – In the chaos of the final sprint to the beam, one lone soldier finds their way to the end, destined to change the fate of the galaxy forever. But what of those left behind?

(Please shout at me in your review if I'm taking forever to post up the next chapter. I do read them all and they do make me want to write more!)


	32. Maelstrom

**A.N.** Sorry for the lateness! I re-wrote the skeleton of this chapter like five times because while I knew how I wanted Jena's story to end, none of it made sense on paper. So I cut a lot of it out, added more bits in, and this is something I'm just about happy with, mainly because it's not the ending we were given. Fuck that.

**Chapter 32: Maelstrom**

'_You have to choose_,' it said, its voice allowing no possibility of compromise, each word like a nail in a coffin.

That hateful little kid that had haunted my dreams stood behind me right now, demanding that I do what it said, force the ending of my story into neat little fucking boxes, all wrapped up with my death, so _what the hell_, right? What did it matter which way I chose? I'd be dead and gone before I saw it happen _anyway_.

I took a step forward, the lights ahead bright and blinding. Each movement made the gunshot wound in my gut throb, sharp pain spiking up every one of my nerves. It wasn't like I had much of a chance of surviving _whatever_ I did.

I was going to die saving the fucking galaxy. Of course I was. How the hell could I have thought it'd end any other way? How could I have been that _stupid_? There were no celestial scales with all the pain I'd ever felt on one side and a bright future on the other. This world didn't reward sacrifices like mine. It only demanded more and more until there was nothing left. At least I still had this left to give. At least I could do this one, last thing.

I'd always had a purpose that no one else could share or understand. I was always meant to save the galaxy. And now, at the end of it all, I could do it at last. I could be finished. The pain could stop.

I was so, _so_ ready for the pain to stop.

I coughed, my world span, and after a sharp intake of breath I spat out the collection of blood and tissue in my mouth.

This was fitting. This felt...right.

I looked straight ahead, at the pillar of green in front of me, and the lights on either side, the battle raging above us, it all seemed to fade into the background until the only thing in my head was the need to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The surge of adrenaline was all that kept me awake and alive. Just keep moving. It was almost over.

_How...how did I even get up here?_

Something in my brain glitched, seized up, wiped my thoughts clean and replaced them with an image of the world I'd be leaving behind me if I could just _keep walking_. I focused on that picture, and took another step. Hell, the way the kid described it the place sounded like some kind of paradise. Organics and synthetics living side by side in perfect synchrony, galactic-wide peace _forever after_, all because something inside my broken body still had the strength to keep moving forward.

I could feel the coolness of the wind on my face as I got ever closer, the crackling of emerald energy around the beam, and I felt more at peace with the world than I'd ever been before as I stood there, contemplating the fact that I was about to jump to my death.

I'd better get a fucking statue this time. Something huge and arrogant, with a plaque with my entire life story on it so everyone that lived to see the new world would know they were alive because Jena Shepard was the greatest commando that had ever lived. Because I'd never given up, not even when things were their worst. I'd always pushed through, gone above and beyond to do what I _knew_ was right, even if no one else could understand, even if no one else agreed, because—

_Kill the Reapers._

The icy breath that blasted into my lungs made my gut clench up like I'd just been shot _again, _the sensation of pure adrenaline rippling through me and out to every inch of my skin. The edges of my vision blurred like static, and I forced myself to focus.

Only a little further. Just a few more steps and I'd have done it. I'd have saved the galaxy, just as I'd said I would, and when the dawn came everyone left alive would wake up to a new world that I'd made for them. A better world. EDI could finally be _alive_, a real person. The Geth could evolve beyond their wildest dreams and join the rest of the new galactic community. Even the Reapers would play their part. They could rebuild, use their strength to _help_ us for a change. And everyone else, the organics, they would be _improved_. The best of both worlds, like a perfect marriage of man and machine, just like–

–_ropes of wires coiled into his skin like the fraying grey muscles around his exoskeleton, circuitry where the patchwork of scars on his face had once marked him as a seasoned Spectre, maybe even a hero to some. Tech mingled seamlessly with hard, turian flesh until it was impossible to tell what was Saren and what was the work of his puppet-master, the creature pulling his strings and infecting his mind until even the best and brightest, with so much purpose and drive wound up inside, had been corrupted beyond repair. His arrogance was his downfall. His belief that he was somehow different to others, that he was _better_, that he could resist what no one else had—_

I saw it perfectly in my mind. That moment when the shroud of indoctrination had been lifted, when he'd raised his gun to his head, and thanked me for letting him end his life on _his_ terms. The thought had come to me then that he and I were more similar than either of us would ever have admitted, and that it was only my good fortune that meant I hadn't been in his place.

Something high-pitched was pulsating loudly in my ears, a sharp buzzing that felt like it was coming from all around me and inside me at once. I pushed it to one side, stared at the beam of green light in front of me, and I stood still, ordering my thoughts as best I could while my lifeblood was leaking out all over my hands, all over the armour that had been cracked open like the shell of an egg.

Saren had tried to do _exactly_ this because he'd thought he knew better than everyone else. But...but he hadn't known then what I knew now. I'd been to the Collector base, I'd seen what they did to the people they stole, the raw DNA that bended itself to their will. They stole innocent people and liquefied them while they were still alive. Every moment that passed before she died, Kelly Chambers had been perfectly aware of what was happening to her. She'd felt every part of it, every one of her limbs melting away one after the other. All of them had. They'd been scared out of their fucking minds. And all that hate and fear and concentrated agony had gone into creating only the _smallest part_ of one new Reaper. And there were thousands of them, each one created by centuries of the kind of brutal war that lighting up the galaxy at this very moment, subjugating and savaging people until each one was totally corrupted, dissolved, turned into _husks_ and made to rip at the flesh of people they once loved, everything that was beautiful and unique and flawed about them turned into something...something that made me sick to think about. Something _abominable_.

My thoughts glitched up again, like the visions forced into my head by the Prothean beacon so many years ago, nothing but jumbled up white noise that was like a scalpel slicing through my brain. I tried to push through it and just _think_, just for a moment.

Every Reaper in the sky right now was made up of billions of people, each one perfectly aware of their moments of death, each one dying after a lifetime of the worst kind of suffering and loss that this world had to offer. There was nothing in them but horror and misery condensed into a creature from nightmares, only existing for the _sake_ of existing, to perpetuate the next cycle again and again, giving no chance of hope or _life_.

And if I took just a few more steps forward, I'd be rolling out the fucking welcome mat for them to rape the minds and bodies of every living thing in the galaxy until we were all _theirs_.

What the hell was I doing?

This wasn't...this wasn't right. _Nothing _about this was right.

_Kill the Reapers_.

I turned my head back to where the kid stood, the projection that called itself the 'Catalyst', and I fought off the haze and static screaming in my ears, clenching around my spine and stabbing at the ending of every nerve. It was like forcing myself to climb through a tangle of razor wire, but I did it. I fixed the vision of that kid with a cold, condemning stare.

"You have to choose," it said again, this time insistent, _petulant_, even. Maybe it sensed my hesitation. Maybe it could read my damn mind.

Something cut through my brain again, a bright flash of light, an electric shock jolting through my nervous system. My feet were telling me to turn back, my body _screamed_ at me that in just a few steps I could _end_ it all and every second I wasted in thought was just more time for people to die, but _no_. I wasn't done yet. I was too damn angry to give in without a fight.

"_You_ don't get to order me around," I snarled, watching the way the air around him seemed to fizzle in and out of focus. Maybe that was just my eyes, struggling to stay open.

"These are facts, Shepard," it said, something sinister behind that childish voice, "You can't escape it. It is inevitable."

"Nothing's inevitable," I spat back, dragging my foot forward from where it edged back towards the light and slapping it down in front of me, "not even this. I don't care _what_ you say."

The pain stabbed at me again and I grit my teeth together as I forced my other foot to take a step. I'd never been very good at compromise.

"You keep telling me it _has_ to be," I wheezed, "that these are the only choices I have, the _only_ way that things can end," fog filled my brain, but something else burned brighter, the memory of the first time I'd taken my life into my own hands, the first time I'd taken _charge_. I'd refused to accept limits on who I was and what I could do just because someone else told me so. I'd refused it _all_, and I'd forged my own path. I'd _always_ found my own way. This would be no different. "But I don't _fucking_ buy it. I don't. If all the facts say this is the way things have to be, then I'll just _change the goddamn facts!_"

"You can't _change_ evolution," the kid insisted, and it was like he grew taller before my very eyes, towering over me until I felt like an insect under the gaze of a creature more powerful than I could ever imagine, "you can't change your genetic destiny. You may be the first to make it this far, but you are still just an organic. Still imperfect."

"Yeah," I seethed, nausea rippling through my belly, "but I'm sure as shit better than _you_. You fucking machines don't get it. You never will. There's no _point_ to evolution; that _is_ the point. It's stupid and messy and _beautiful_, just...just like life. You'll never understand that. No matter how many of us you kill and harvest and _mutate,_ you'll never understand what it is to be alive."

_'I don't know if the Reapers understand fear,_' _he'd said, bionic eyes lit up eerily by the quantum entanglement particles, __'but you killed one of them. Outsmarted them. That has to be worth something.'_

Even the Leviathan had said the Reapers were afraid of us, afraid of _me_ in particular. Hell, it would _know_. It created the damn things. And here they were acting like they were all-powerful, all-intelligent, like they knew better than _me_ about something they'd _never _understand.

"I think you fuckers _do_ understand fear, though," I said simply, my numb arm groping at my side for the pistol I was sure was still there, "And I think you're afraid of all of us. I think you're _especially_ afraid of me, because _I_ don't think you're gods, I think _you_ think you're gods, you arrogant pieces of shit. But you know what?" I sniffed, feeling pinpricks ripple over my battered body, fog closing in around my vision, but it didn't matter because right now I was lucid as I'd ever been, "I...am _not_...afraid...of _you._"

Whatever happened, I wasn't going to take my last breath following the advice of a goddamn _Reaper_. I'd rather doom the world and go up in flames doing things my own damn way.

Black ink swum into my peripheral vision and clouded my thoughts. Somehow, my hand fell on my gun and I brought it up in a well-practiced movement. It was only then I realised that it _wasn't my damn gun_. It couldn't be. Mine was heavier, there was a crimson stripe next to the N7, a heavy dent where I'd pummeled a Reaper brute in the face, and...and...

And I was standing on an open platform, drifting through space, being told to choose the fate of the galaxy like it was a fucking game show, and I had no idea how I'd got here in the first place. None.

How...how the hell was I even breathing?

"_Stop _it," the kid shouted, his voice coming from behind me and inside and _all around me_. Every part of my body that wasn't curled around this unfamiliar gun wanted to turn back, take the few steps to the edge, _run_ if I had to,and hurl myself in. Every part of me wanted this to be over, for the pain to stop. But I'd finish it my own way. And I wouldn't let it end by giving in, not to _them_, not to _this_, not _ever_.

"No!" I cried, my anger giving me strength though my voice was ragged and broken, "fuck _you_ and fuck this space magic _bullshit_. I'm a soldier, I've _always_ been a soldier. I don't care how advanced you fuckers are, _everything _can be killed!" I primed my weapon, felt every scrap of righteous fury I had rise up inside me, pushed the insufferable fog from my head, and grit my teeth against the pain. "Even _you_."

In the split second before I fired, I saw the vision of the kid ripple and blur as its face contorted with rage. And then a blast rang through the air, the kid _screeched_ my name like a Reaper banshee, and every one of my senses was overloaded with pain and white, blinding light.

I sucked in a breath, the air catching on the blood in my throat, and let it out again.

The kid was still howling my name, this time right in my ear, directly inside my head. And then, measuring each second with the slow, laboured heaving of my lungs, I realised it wasn't the kid at all. The voice was rough, low, and blurred by static. It...it was...Hackett?

As soon as I'd found myself on the platform at the end of the world, I'd realised my commlink had been blown clean off my face. There was no way it could be Hackett, how could he even reach me up here? But I could hear him right now, calling my name like it was an order, something _important_, but...but...it couldn't...

A great, rasping breath filled my lungs, as though I'd been drowning and had just broken the surface. Every gasp was agony, but all at once everything felt lucid and _clear_, like the painkillers had worn off, like a shroud had been lifted from my eyes.

I was freezing cold. And my side was _on fire_.

I opened my eyes.

My gloved hand was flung out beside me, reaching uselessly at a set of stairs as I lay sprawled out on the hard metal floor. I didn't even remember falling down. My armour – _my_ armour this time, not whatever I had been wearing in that fucked-up dreamscape from moments before – was splattered with blood and blackened by flame. I tried to flex my other hand to bring up my omnitool but at the slightest suggestion of movement pain _screamed_ up every nerve and I let out a guttural moan in response. With a groan of effort, I turned my head to the other side and saw why. The armour had been blown away below my elbow, the skin along with it, and what was left was charred flesh and streaks of the metal I had instead of bones. Adrenaline coursed through my body, making me convulse even as I lay staring at this _thing_ I had instead of an arm, not understanding how any of it could be real.

I still had fingers, _barely_, but they weren't moving. Nothing was. My left leg was numb too, and I _knew_ the feeling of a bullet lodged in my side.

It came to me in discordant flashes of memory. The sprint to the beam, the blow that nearly took out my squad. _Kaidan_. The moment I knew I was saying goodbye for good. The final hurdles. The blast of the Reaper's gun, so hot I could _feel_ my skin boiling off. The bullet I'd been too dazed to dodge. The blinding pillar of light. The mission.

And now this. I looked up, and I saw the soft-focus lighting and hazy treetops of the Presidium. How had I even got here?

Had any of it been real? The piles of bodies, the unfamiliar scenery that still seemed to be plucked straight from my memories, The Illusive Man, _Anderson_. Had _any_ of that actually happened?

"Commander Shepard, _do you read_?" my commlink growled, still somehow attached to the collar of my blasted armour. The voice, the urgency in the order, it wiped every doubt and thought from my mind and replaced it with another, pure and simple: _Kill the Reapers_.

It didn't matter what was real. It didn't matter what kind of shape I was in. I still had a goddamn job to do.

I brought the hand that was still working up to my commlink, and when I spoke my lungs burned, but it didn't matter. I told my racing mind that nothing but the mission mattered now. _Nothing_. Not even_ him. _

"I'm here," I coughed wretchedly, "I'm…I'm on the Presidium. I…I'm…"

"Commander _Shepard_," Hackett demanded again, a frantic edge to his voice. He couldn't hear me, I realised. Either I was still in a damn dream world or my mic was broken.

"I'm alive," I replied quietly, not sure for how much longer that would be true.

"If you can hear me, if you're still out there," he sighed, sounding more desperate than ever before, "opening the arms wasn't enough. The Crucible's docked but it isn't working. Something's blocking the signal. We need…god dammit, Shepard, we need _you_." It sounded like a wish, a prayer, and with that he was gone and I heard nothing else.

I was alone.

I looked up, realised I could see Earth through the shattered ceiling, and a vision pierced my mind – me stumbling up the stairs to the console in a haze, just like I had years ago, punching in the code with fingers that would barely work, looking up at the arms as they parted to show Earth lit up by flame. And then nothing.

Pushing the agony to one side, I braced myself with my good arm and rolled onto my front like a limp, dying fish. Above the stairs was that very console, and each step was streaked with blood that was pooling where I lay now. I must have fallen down.

If I closed my eyes, I thought, if I just let myself go for a few seconds, it could all be over. It didn't have to hurt any more.

"_No_," I spat, black blood clogging up my throat as I brought my arm up to push against the ground, every muscle screaming, "_No._ Not yet."

I sat up, stared at my goal at the top of the stairs, and dragged myself up onto the first step.

"I'm not done yet, you evil mother_fuckers_," I growled, pulling my useless limbs up with me. I felt black ink pushing into the edges of my vision, buzzing starting up in my head, but I didn't care. I had a job to do. I had a mission to complete and _nothing else mattered_. I had no idea what I'd do to fix things once I _got_ to the top of the stairs, but one objective at a time.

My hand was slick with my own blood, and every step was a mountain. I slipped so many times I lost count. But eventually, hissing and cursing, I collapsed at the top of the stairs, the console right in front of me.

I lay there, catching my breath with my muscles on fire, glaring at the console and wondering what the hell I could do to fix things.

It was hard to think laterally when one of your limbs was a charred mess and you were bleeding out and everything inside of you just wanted to _let go_. But I would manage it. I had to. I pictured Liara, heard her soothing voice in my mind explaining their findings about the Crucible, and I tried to untangle what it might all mean. She'd said the Crucible was an energy source, the vessel for some kind of super-reaction. They had no idea what the hell it did without the Catalyst to focus the whole thing, but they knew it was insanely powerful. If the _Citadel_ was the Catalyst, then…then…

I spat out the blood that had collected in my mouth, forced myself to focus, and _breathed_.

Years ago, the _first_ time I'd used this console to save the galaxy, I'd been stopping the Reapers from communicating with the Citadel by blocking their signal. It had existed even before _they_ had, a kind of relay that connected every one of them, hooked right up to whatever frequency they were on. It made perfect sense that the Citadel was the missing ingredient we'd been looking for all this time – it was the only thing that could link up all the Reapers at once, _wherever_ they were. If the Crucible was a bullet and the Catalyst was the gun, then why the hell wasn't it firing?

It came to me with a sudden rush of energy, fire prickling over my skin that gave me the drive to actually sit up again. The last time I'd been here in the centre of an apocalypse, I'd been _blocking their damn signal_. When the Protheans were all but done for, when the Crucible had already failed in their cycle and the last of them had escaped to Ilos, they'd come up with a way to stop the Reapers from ever linking up to the Citadel again.

_That_ was the only reason they hadn't invaded all those years ago. That was why they hadn't taken the Citadel straight away when the war started. That was why the goddamn Crucible wasn't _firing_.

That was why this cycle would be _different_.

And then the adrenaline subsided, I thought critically about my own idea, and I lost hope. All I'd have to do was get rid of the code threaded through the Citadel's core systems by Kaidan so long ago, but I had no idea what it looked like, where to find it, or how to disable it. I was so close, I had fought _so hard_ and what would doom us all in the end was my shitty coding skills. It wasn't even ironic. It was just…pathetic. Kaidan had tried more than once to make me take any interest at all in that stuff, but I'd ignored it, only used it as an excuse to get closer to him, and now…

If only he were here, I let myself think for the first time, feeling the anguish and pain that came with that thought wash over me. If only. I'd been trying not to think about it, about _him_ or the way I'd left him just like I'd said I _wouldn't_, but holding those floodgates closed was pointless now. We were done. If he were here, he could save the day with a swipe of that retrograde omni-tool of his. It could be so easy. But I'd left him behind. I closed my eyes, hunched forward, and all I could see in my mind's eye was that warm smile on his face, lit up by orange light, as he tried one last time to make me take an interest, sitting in the observation port, swiping over programme after programme so I wouldn't have to use my actual brain.

'_This one can still use all the stuff we picked up on the SSV Normandy,' _he'd said, rooting through files on his omni-tool with an easy familiarity,_ 'You know, geth defence protocols, some of Tali's sabotage programmes, I think I've even still got the code from _Vigil_ saved somewhere…'_

My eyes bolted open.

He'd copied it to mine. I had Vigil's code on my omni-tool. I could find an exact match buried in the console and I could disable it. I could fire this damn gun just by…

…Just by using my dead and broken arm with its unresponsive fingers and the nerves that couldn't even fire up the computer buried in my wrist. Using my other hand, I dragged my ragged forearm onto my lap, grit my teeth against the pain, and inspected the damage. It was gruesome, like staring at crime scene photos. I could see a tendon twitching uselessly, the metallic bone glinting at me from under ripped strings of muscle fibres, and I pushed past the fog closing in around my head as I tried to remember basic training. Activating omnitools _manually_. It was a hell of a lot easier when the person was dead, that was for sure. I'd never had to dig one out before, normally you could just mimic the movements with the stiff's fingers, but my tendons were shot to shit, and I knew that wouldn't work. Mine had a switch that was buried somewhere on the underside of the circuitry, something that could be pulled from my corpse like a black box on a plane and tell whoever found me how I'd died. I wasn't dead just yet, though. Not yet. I still had a job to do.

There was nothing for it. Don't even think about it, Jena, just _do it_.

My jaw clenched so hard I was sure I'd chip a tooth as I dug a bare finger beneath the ruined skin of my arm and felt the hard edges of my tiny omni-tool implant. And then the breath I'd been holding in with all my might burst out of me as my resolve cracked and I wrenched my hand back with a cry, pain shaking my body. Cold tears were prickling at my eyes and running down my cheeks, forging tracks through the dirt I could feel crusted onto my face. I tried to stop shaking, but sobs were pounding through my ribcage, each one leaving me even more shattered than the last. The sound was horrible, like a creature being slaughtered. I could barely believe it was coming from _me_.

I looked down to the floor, my breath thick and rasping, and saw my blood was still leaking onto the floor. All of me was covered. My armour, my hair, even my right hand was filthy and slick with thick, dark blood. The medi-gel I'd had was long gone, and I didn't have the strength to find any more up here. I was dying. I knew that. There was no question about it. But there was no way I'd die a _failure_. There was no way _in hell_ I'd die having failed because I couldn't pull myself together long enough to deal with a little pain.

"Come on," I grunted to myself, willing just a little more strength to rise up inside and get me through this even though my voice was cracking with tears, "come _on_."

I sucked in a deep breath of air again, tensed up every muscle I had that still worked, forced myself to be still, and, measuring out my life by the sound of every heartbeat pumping in my ears, I thrust my fingers back into the mess of flesh at my wrist, felt vomit gurgling in my throat, and dug out the chip. It slipped from my scarlet-streaked fingers and fell to the floor, free at last. The relief when it was all over made my eyes roll back in my head with the sudden withdrawal of pain. I wanted to take a second to compose myself before ploughing on, but if I did that I had no idea if I'd be able to open my eyes again. I swirled my tongue around my mouth, tasted copper, and spat sharply to one side.

Fingers shaking with the cold shroud of adrenaline, I reached down and plucked the chip from the floor. Strength flowed out of me moment by moment as I dragged my useless body across the floor towards the console, and when I got there I slung my hand up to rest on the top. Lights danced over my arm expectantly. I slid the chip to the centre of my palm, dug my nail into the little divot to activate it manually, and watched as my omni-tool bloomed into life, its joints automatically mapping themselves to my right hand. It was unfamiliar, my consciousness was being sapped away by the second, and I fucking _hated_ coding, but I knew, deep within me, that I could do this.

Saren hadn't stopped me, the Collectors hadn't stopped me, even an unstoppable race of sentient machines sent to wipe out all organic life in the _galaxy_ hadn't stopped me from completing my mission. And a little blood loss didn't have _shit_ on those.

With numb, stiff fingers, I scrolled through my small collection of files until I found Vigil's code, burning bright and beautiful like an illuminated manuscript. And then, praying to anything that would listen and asking that this please just _work_, I made a small movement and started the search for the same fragment of coding on the Citadel's main system.

It took fourteen long, agonising, breath-stopping seconds before a result flashed up, buried so deep, so entwined around other bits of code that no one would ever notice unless they knew exactly where to look. I'd never have found it otherwise. No one could have.

_Kaidan_, _you being a sentimental idiot just saved the entire galaxy._

I didn't know how it would work, all I knew was that it _had_ to. It had to because I _always_ found a way, I _always_ got the job done, and if this wasn't the answer I didn't have it in me to keep on looking.

"Please," I spluttered pathetically, my aching fingers from the wrong hand making the unfamiliar movements on the console's display to disable the code. "Please just…just _work_."

I disabled the code, removed the block from the Citadel's mainframe, and watched numbly as something complicated started happening with the remaining code that had just been linked back up.

There was a moment, frozen in time, when everything in my world just _hung_, silent and still, and I had no idea what to expect. From the base of the Presidium tower I felt something rumbling, brewing, shaking the ground beneath me, and all at once red fire started running up the walls, across the floor, coating everything including my trembling body in energy that built and built and _built_ until the tower itself seemed to hum with life. My one good hand was still gripping the console, my aching eyes refusing to close because somehow I knew that this was _it_, and that the microseconds of life before this tower blew would be all I had left, and I wanted to watch every instant. I wanted to face my death like a _soldier_.

It happened.

The red light retreated to the centre of the tower, an atom that hung before my eyes containing our last hope, and all at once it _erupted_, booming out in an explosive shockwave that slammed me back against the console, burst through broken windows and rippled along the arms of the Citadel. I felt it pass through my body like a static shock, but something about it felt…_cleansing_. It was like a bucketful of water to the face, and as I slid back down to the floor, my body still broken, inside I felt light and airy, like a weight had been lifted from my very soul.

Maybe that was just the blood loss.

I craned my head up to look at the sky above Earth, lit up by explosions, and when I saw the Reapers being wrapped in ropes of red static and freezing in their place, it felt like I was watching a vid. As though this were someone else's triumph and not mine, not _real_. It didn't feel possible that I could have done it at last. After so many years. There must have been another mission, another challenge, another hurdle to vault over, something else I had to do before I could rest because _there was always something else_.

But there was nothing. It was over. I'd done it.

Dimly, I became aware of the tears rolling freely down my face. When I tried to move my legs, they barely twitched. My right arm fell from the console to the floor with a heavy, wet thud.

It didn't matter that I couldn't move, I thought. I'd known from the beginning that I wasn't going to make it. At least…at least _this_ was a good spot.

Words came to me, as though from a memory that wasn't really mine.

'_Best seats in the house.'_

I watched, my eyes raw and aching, as the army I'd assembled blew away the corpses of immobilised Reapers. They weren't fighting back. They were just objects in space, as lifeless and empty as machines. I wondered if their troops on the ground had been affected too. Probably. Did it matter, asked my pounding head? Probably not. I'd done enough.

This was it. The thought came again and it was like a wave crashing over me, something intense and bittersweet that made me want to scream and cry and laugh at the same time, but all I could manage was a muffled sob as my throat burned raw, my senses filled with the copper of my own blood still leaking out.

I'd done it, I'd done _everything_, and now there was nothing left to do but watch. Nothing left for me to do but experience all that the last moments of my life had to offer. I'd started life alone, I'd gone through so much alone, and now, at the end, it made sense that I'd die alone. Here, on a broken city drifting through space, with my broken commlink and my broken armour and my poor, battered, broken body, _alone_.

It was only now, at the end of it all, that I let myself think of what I left behind, and from somewhere inside me fresh tears welled up in my eyes and dragged new paths down my dirt-smeared face. Their faces flashed before me, every one of the people that had come into my life and changed it for the better, and when I got to the last one, to _Kaidan_, I felt my throat seize up in pain all over again.

I'd promised. I'd _promised_ I'd come back alive, that I wouldn't do anything stupid, but...he should have known I was unreliable. Volatile. Shoot first and think later. He should have known I'd run. There was nothing inside me that would let me live with myself if I hadn't given this one, last mission _everything_ I had.

Overhead, I watched as a quarian ship blew a Reaper to pieces. I watched as the world turned, and the tide turned with it. I watched everything I'd fought for come true.

'_I'm sorry_,' I thought, wishing I could be talking to him but knowing there was no way, '_I'm sorry this happened. But I'm not sorry I saved your life, because one of us had to get out of this alive, and we both knew it wasn't going to be me. You must have known that. I hope...' _I closed my eyes, and when I tried to move my arm to wipe away the tears that spilled down my cheeks, I found it was numb and unresponsive. I couldn't feel my legs either. It was happening. At least I'd found a good spot. '_I hope...you have a good, long life. I hope all your dreams come true. I hope you meet someone better than me who can take care of you. Don't worry about me...'_ My breaths were shallow and laboured. I wondered how much longer I could scream at my tight lungs to keep going before they stopped listening. '_Don't grieve for me. Please don't. I can't stand the thought of you going through more pain because of me. I've had...I've had a good life. After all we've been through, after _everything_, it was worth it. I don't...I don't regret a thing.'_

I forced my eyes open, focused through the spots dancing in front of my eyes and the tears clouding my sight, and I stared at the sky. I wanted to see it all. I'd tried so hard, and I'd done so much. Hell, I'd done more than anyone, anywhere, _ever_. I'd done what no one else had been able to, in every cycle that had ever infected this galaxy. And now here I was, at the end of it all, with the best seats in the house, watching the results.

At that moment, I knew more than ever that it was _always_ going to be me. It had to be me. No one else could have done it. Someone else would have just fucked it all up. Someone else would have gotten it wrong.

They were right, all those people that said I was different. I'd always known I was different. I chose my own path. So many had tried, but _no one_ could use me. Even the goddamn _Reapers _couldn't use me.

Thanks to me, thanks to _everyone_ that had fought beside me, the future was..._free_. Nothing was set in stone. We had a road set out before us that could lead anywhere we wanted. We had a chance no one had ever had before. We could make our own mistakes. Hell, we could make the _same_ mistakes, but that was for us to decide.

_Us_. No. That wasn't right. I wasn't part of that collective, because...because I wouldn't be there to see it. I wouldn't live to see the future I'd created. But that was...okay.

Sudden shivers racked my body, terror coiling up in my belly that made me want to retch if only I could move a muscle. I was going to die. My body didn't believe me when I insisted that it was okay, but it _was_. It was fine. Even as my head swam and forced my eyes shut, I told myself it was fine. Even though I'd never see the world again, never feel anything else it had to offer, never experience the future he and I had promised one another, it was all…it was all fine.

I let it happen. I let the life drain from my body, felt the tension go from every one of my torn, overworked muscles, and as I let the breath flow from my lungs, the world around me slipped away.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

_The light that reaches my eyes is like looking into the sun itself. Acrid smoke burns in my throat and all that fills my senses is flame and death. The cries of soldiers as they are thrown from the ground and the crackle of gunfire pierces through the roars of the enemy. A blast from the Reaper's gun picks up a Mako like a paper plane and it spirals towards us. She shouts, above the maelstrom I hear her voice, I dive to the side. Not quick enough. The vehicle is huge and it clips me, the impact throws me to the ground and forces the air from my tight lungs. She appears again, her wild hair lit up like a halo, and pulls me to my feet._

_The light behind her is blinding, but the fire in her eyes is brighter still._

_She shouts again. I find James in the wreckage. He has taken the brunt of the impact and with a quick once-over I know he can't go on. I ask if he can stand, but he only responds with a groan as I hoist his arm over my shoulders, and it is then I feel the sharp screaming of broken ribs under my bruised skin._

_I tell myself it doesn't matter. There is nothing around us but chaos, a world on fire and impossible odds stacking up moment by moment, but still I tell myself that I'll be able to fight, I'll shrug it off and after we fall back and take a breather I'll be good as new. We're not done yet. _I'm_ not done yet._

_The troops that are sprinting to the beam may as well be walking into a meat grinder._

_She barks into her commlink to demand an evac, says it's too hot to make another approach. It doesn't occur to me that it will be a one-way trip from the battle. Not even when she turns to me sharply and asks if I can still walk. I tell her I'll be fine, that I can still _fight_ even though my breaths are shallow and more than one part of my armour has cracked under pressure. I insist that once we get Vega to safety, once we patch ourselves up, we'll be able to turn around and try again. She says nothing, and the look in her eyes, the one that should send alarm bells screaming through my head, passes me by. Maybe it's the pain. It's getting hard to breathe._

_We move to a bombed-out building, shrouded in shadow. With her shotgun she blasts away at the husks that swarm over the debris, covering our retreat. I carry most of Vega's weight, doing the work his feat can't. He's barely conscious. He mumbles something to me, spitting out blood as he does so, but I don't catch the words. All I see is the shuttle ahead, and in my head the plan is clear – things are too risky, we have to pull back, regroup, take out Harbinger and try again. It's so obvious that she doesn't even need to explain, and all that leaves her mouth are muffled grunts as she fights off the creatures that appear from around every corner. _

_The door opens and I heave Vega's body on board, all the while ignoring his protests about how all of this is _bullshit_. There's no one in the shuttle but the pilot, so I secure Vega's body as Shepard makes sure our retreat is clear._

_I pull myself to my feet. My ribs scream with the movement, and again I tell myself I'll worry about how I can keep fighting _later_, when there is a second to think. I shout at her to hurry up, but the boom of guns is louder than my voice, so I turn back to see why the hell she's taking so long. The sight makes me go cold._

_She stands there, shredded Reapers by her feet, her face lit up by fire, staring straight at the pulsing lights of the beam. The moment is burned into my mind. I shout again to break her out of this trance and this time she turns back. Her face is contorted with heart-wrenching pain, rage and determination and guilt all bundled together. I know her better than anyone, and I know _instantly_ what she has planned. The resolve is hard as stone in her eyes, even as she jogs back to the shuttle, reaches around the back of the door and grabs a handful of thermal clips._

_I panic and reach out to clamp a hand around her arm, and when she snaps her head up to glare at me I can read her snarling, defiant face like a book, words she'd said to me before: _I have to do this, even if you don't understand.

_Thing is, I do understand. I get it. That doesn't mean I can just let it happen._

_I bark her name, try to pull her further inside, but I'm injured and in this moment she is stronger. She uses the momentum to step up on the edge of the shuttle, grab the front of my armour, pull me down and press her lips hard against mine. There is nothing tender in the kiss, only desperation and heartbreak. I open my eyes and there is another moment frozen in time where we simply look at each other. It lasts an instant, but part of me knows that this is something I will never, ever forget. In her eyes I can see it all – all the love and regret and pain, the spirit inside her that could _never _let her give up and walk away, the look of someone with a purpose that is worth _any_ cost, no matter how painful._

_That wretched day above Alchera is fresh in my mind. The panic wells up inside me anew and I don't let her go – I shout at her, tell her _no, _you can't go, I'm not leaving you behind, not _again_. _

_My mind races though a dozen scenarios and for my own sanity I have to believe that she won't pull away from me, that she'll see how insane this all is and she'll come with us. She'll stop thinking of herself as the only one that can do this._

_But I know her better than that._

_She grits her teeth, like she hates _everything _about this, and every word she says brands itself across my mind like they're written in fire – 'No, this time I'm leaving _you_.'_

_I've thought about stopping her so many times before when she was about to do the impossible and prove everyone wrong. I've thought of dragging her back kicking and screaming, insisting _no_, not this time, it's too much, for me _and _for you, but I never thought I'd actually do it. I never thought I'd led how much I love her get in the way of how much I admire her and what she is capable of, but now all I want to do is reach out, put her in stasis, knock her out, _anything_ to stop her from walking into the fire on her own._

_To hell with the galaxy, I think – I can't live in one without _her_ in it._

_The thought comes to me so clearly that I _have _to stop her, but it comes too late. She's only been on the shuttle for a matter of seconds – too much is happening, it's all so loud and my body is aching and my lips are burning from touching hers, and I see her heart breaking in her eyes in the instant before the shuttle takes off. She turns suddenly to leap from the door, my arm flying out and just brushing against her armour, panic rising up in me like never before. She lands, stumbles, _sprints_ towards the beam, and I can picture her face, hard and determined as she tells herself she can make it despite all the odds and all the facts insisting it's impossible. I shout after her and my voice is ragged. I don't even know what I'm saying. I just want her to come back._

_When she doesn't respond, I turn to shout at the pilot to turn around, to land again so I can at least go after her, but the Reaper is _right there_ and I know the only thing we can do is fly away, get somewhere safe, but still my hands want to claw at the door as it slams shut, still all I can think of is me leaving her to die alone, _again_. Part of me knows that she made the right decision, that I was in no state to fight next to her, but in my head there is such a jumble of emotions and turmoil that I can't even think straight, and even as we speed away from the battle and Vega convulses to cough up blood and my hands work faster than ever before to find some medigel, all I hear is the boom of the guns, the Reaper's sirens, the blasts of ships erupting into flame, and I want to stop the world for a second, just for a second because it's all too loud, _deafening_, and how the _hell_ am I leaving her again, _again_ after I promised I wouldn't? How?_

_How can any of this be real? How can I live with myself if it is?_

We barely made it out alive. The shuttle skidded on the floor of the Normandy's hangar bay and came to a halt as its systems powered down. For a beat there was nothing but silence, and it was like my entire world was hanging by a thread.

My hands were still shaking, lips still open and moving silently to try and work out what had just happened and what the hell I could do about it.

James let out a long, low groan, and at once I remembered myself. First things first.

The shuttle's pilot – not Steve, where was Steve? – helped me to carry Vega's body to the medbay. I called out for someone, _anyone _to give me a status report on what was happening back on Earth, but the soldiers I'd been so used to seeing dotted about the Normandy had all but vanished, most either glued to their posts or back on Earth. With their Commander.

Chakwas hurried around a corner and immediately started scanning us as we limped together, the pilot giving her a quick update as I found I could barely even speak. Vega's leg had been fractured by the tumbling Mako, and like me he had more than one broken rib. In my head I had a single-minded goal – get him to safety, patch myself up as quickly as possible, and get back down to Earth before Jena could do something _stupid_ like think she could win this damn war all by herself.

God dammit, what if I was too _late_?

I sent the shuttle pilot to the main deck to get me a damn status report, and she hurried off, stumbling as the Normandy's shields took another hit. As soon as I lay James' groaning body down on a gurney, I immediately found some of that enhanced medi-gel Shepard had procured and shoved the capsule into my armour's receptor. Really, I should have taken off the twisted and cracked parts of my armour to do it properly, but there wasn't time. _There wasn't time_. The pain subsided at once, and though my ribs were still on fire, it was something I could at least grit my teeth through. The display on my hardsuit stopped blaring at me that I was losing blood, and now it just told me to 'seek medical assistance immediately'. No time.

I turned to grab more capsules for later, and that was when the crewmember I'd sent off rushed back into the room, her eyes ringed with fear.

"They're pulling back," she said quickly, panting a little, "Hammer's pulling back from the beam. No one made it through. There was…it was a massacre, Sir. They're still trying to figure out what happened, it's all…it's all static, hard to make out. EDI's having real trouble getting through the interference."

"And Shepard?" I asked at once, not sure if I even _wanted_ an answer.

She shook her head, and something inside me felt cold and dead. If I hadn't been leaning on the table, I'd have crumbled to the floor.

"No one can reach her," the crewmember said in the tone of someone desperate for another person to interrupt and take over, "There was a Reaper by the beam that took out _everyone_ that got close. Hammer thought she took the evac shuttle with you, but…I'm sorry, Sir, we can't reach her."

I looked out the window, to Earth still lit up by flame, to the thin beam of light that shot up to the orbiting Citadel, its arms still tightly shut, and…and I didn't know what to do. The fact that I was a Major and a Spectre meant nothing, because I had no idea what to do. I tried to think of what _Shepard_ might do, but that was obvious – she'd never be in this situation in the first place because she'd refuse to run away, not when there was still a chance, _any_ chance.

A chance. That was all she'd ever needed before.

"That doesn't mean anything," I said slowly, becoming more convinced by the second that I was right even though all the evidence told me something else, something I wasn't prepared to believe, not for a second because that would kill me, "there could be interference from the Reapers blocking her comms – if there was that much chaos with Hammer then she might have made it through without anyone seeing. She could be up there right now, _alone_."

Alone and probably wounded, on a station about to be attached to a weapon that could do _anything_ once it was docked. The urgency of it all made me feel nauseous, desperate for some kind of action, even though I'd exhausted myself already. My body was tired enough, but my biotics were worse. Already I could feel the start of a migraine spiking up the back of my neck, my amp still humming with overusage.

"_Kaidan_!" Chakwas barked, and when I turned back I saw her frantically waving me over, her other hand working ineffectively at a broken catch on Vega's armour. I tried to ignore the pounding of exhaustion creeping up my spine or the dull ache of my ribs or the screaming voice in my head that said _I had to go after her that very second_ and helped Chakwas instead. Together we took the main pieces of his huge and heavy armour off, all the while my mind working double time to come up with a plan.

"If no one can find her she must have made it through," I insisted, hating the way Chakwas's lips narrowed into a thin, serious line that said she didn't believe me, "that's why her commlink isn't working – there must be interference stopping the signal from getting through to the Citadel. She _has_ to be up there."

"And _what_?" Chakwas asked in response, plunging a syringe into Vega's arm as I worked at removing his boots without hurting him, "There's nothing we can do. Even if she _did _make it through when everyone else was obliterated, even if she _is _on the Citadel, we can't get to her, and by all reports we can't even get back to _London_. Even if we _could_, you're in no condition to fight, and there's no one else on this ship we can spare. And I'm sure I don't need to remind you that all of this is riding on the notion that she actually made it _through_ that killzone."

James relaxed as the medicine began to work, and I heard his rapid heart rate begin to even out on the monitors. Chakwas looked up at me soberly, and I knew at once that there must have been more casualties than just Vega from the crew of the Normandy. I didn't want to ask. Not yet.

"I don't like it any more than you do," she said slowly, "but for now, for the sake of _everyone left, _we have to work under the assumption that we've lost our Commander." Her words thudded into me like bullets, one after the other, leaving me feeling hollow, a hole carved out of my chest. My ribs were still throbbing with pain.

I took a breath, "What's more likely—"

"_Kaidan_—"

"_What's_ more likely? That she's failed _now_, right at the end when it matters the most, or that she's proved everyone wrong _again_ and done the impossible?" It seemed so obvious to me, but maybe that was just because the only alternative was one I rejected with _every part_ of me. Maybe I was just overtired and overworked, stubbornly, hysterically refusing to accept the truth because it wasn't a truth I could live with.

"She's died before—"

"Yeah, and that barely slowed her down."

"This is _different," _Chakwas shot back, "It's _all_ different, and personal feelings aside, Major, I'm sure even _you_ know that."

"Major Alenko," EDI interrupted suddenly, "I have Admiral Hackett on the line."

I told her to put it through, heart in my throat, as I numbed Vega's fractured leg with a quick injection of localised anaesthetic. He was still gripping the sides of the bed in agony. I couldn't imagine being immobile at a time like this, but I knew what it was like to have a fight for the galaxy raging all around you while you stood on the sidelines. I had to get back out there.

"Does _anyone_ know where she is?" Hackett's voice came through suddenly, urgently, as if he were begging for a response that wasn't just more cold, dead silence. I felt part of my hope die as he said that, having secretly hoped that his transmission would bring good news for once.

"Negative, Sir," I answered when I found my voice, "We thought Shepard would come with us when we caught the evac shuttle, but she was determined to reach the beam."

"She must have been caught in the Reaper's path," said another voice I vaguely recognised as another Alliance Admiral, "along with the rest of Hammer. Has anyone heard from Anderson?"

"Negative on that front too," said yet another, "but last we heard they were pulling back, some of Hammer could still be alive."

"We can't count on that," the second voice replied, "_or_ on Shepard. We need a new plan to open the Citadel arms."

"She could be on the Citadel right now for all we know," I insisted, hating their total dismissal of the woman that had once been their only hope, "She could have made it through, if _anyone _could do it–"

"I agree," rumbled Hackett, "but if she's still alive we can't reach her through the interference, and we can't count on her to fix this if she went down with the rest of Hammer. We still need to get someone on the Citadel who can open the arms so we can dock the Crucible, but London is a no-go, and there's no other way on board."

"The area around the Citadel itself is still swarming with Reapers," said the third Admiral quickly, the sound of her voice backed by ringing sirens no doubt coming from her ship, "They're defending it; none of us can get close, even if there _was_ a way inside."

"A shuttle could do it," I said suddenly. The plan that formed in my head could charitably be described as 'suicidal', but if there was even a _chance_… "The Normandy's close, I can get a shuttle to the outside of the Citadel. Maybe if I get near enough to the beam it'll pull me up too. I could get inside."

"Impossible," the second Admiral snapped, Chakwas shooting a meaningful look at my ribs that _also_ insisted this was a terrible idea, "We can't risk the Normandy getting too close – the Reapers would take it out _at once_ if they got the chance, and we don't even know if it'll work."

"The beam _might_ be able to pick up a small enough shuttle," Hackett mused, "but Admiral Dawson's right, we can't risk the Normandy."

"Like _hell_ we can't," I heard Joker's voice suddenly and realised it was coming from the intercom where he'd no doubt been listening to every word while he put the Normandy through its paces, "if Shepard's down there, we're _going_."

"This isn't a _rescue_ mission," Dawson shot back, "the Commander was likely killed with the rest of Hammer, and _we_ still have a war to win, so if we can just—"

"_Wherever_ Shepard is," Hackett insisted, "the Crucible is still our only plan, and to make it work we need to get to the Citadel, so—"

The third Admiral interrupted to remind us all that we didn't even know how the Crucible _worked_ or what it would do even _if_ we could get it docked. Joker seethed that he sure as hell wasn't above stealing the damn ship _again_ if that was what it took to get the job done, and I agreed. Hackett told us all to fall in line, but Dawson was already suggesting an alternative, a counter-strike using what was left of Sword to take back London. I said it was suicide, she replied it was no less suicidal than pinning our hopes to a mystery Prothean weapon in the first place. There was a feeling growing in the air, despair and determination and the human need to _keep fighting_ even if it was to the death. We'd all known coming into this that it was victory or death, but with Shepard in action the result had seemed like more of a certainty. Now, _no one_ knew what to do.

Around us, the world was falling apart and our leadership was falling with it. It was so clear in every one of their voices that without Shepard and without their plan, they had nothing. We were insects struggling against a relentless hurricane.

She had to be alive. I had to _believe_ she was alive, just so I could keep going. I demanded that they give the go-ahead for me to man a shuttle to the base of the Crucible where the beam might be able to carry me inside. The Normandy could get close, but we'd need cover fire to draw the Reapers long enough to make the drop. Dawson insisted that if we were to go through with this ridiculous plan, it couldn't be _me_, it had to be someone more 'impartial', and I barked that there _was_ no one else – the Normandy was getting alerts from all sectors, urgent requests for cover fire and extraction, all the people at their posts were absolutely essential, and _I_ was the only operative left on my feet. Even the damn shuttle pilot had her hands full making repairs in engineering.

Vega wheezed something from his place on the bed, but I didn't hear, too busy pleading with the Admirals to see the sense of my admittedly crazy plan. And then, even with his broken ribs and perforated lung, James finally found his voice.

"_Guys!"_ The roar for silence was breathless, but effective. The room fell silent, even the intercom, and slowly he raised one heavy, bruised arm to point, "The arms." His head flopped back onto the pillow, and he just like that he was unconscious.

I looked out the slim window along one side of the medbay, and my mouth fell open. As the Normandy circled around the bulk of the conflict, we could see the Citadel clearly floating amongst the debris, turning in place. The vice of its arms had cracked open and they were parting, slowly but surely. It was like watching a flower unravelling to greet the most beautiful sunrise the world had ever seen.

There was nothing but stunned silence over the airwaves. I imagined every one of the Admirals on the line watching the same thing I was, lips parted in wonder.

"Holy shit," Hackett's voice came at last, husky with awe, "she did it."

There was no question who it was. No one even entertained the idea that someone _else_ might have delivered on a plan that was crazy from the start. Somehow, we all knew.

She did it. _Shepard_.

The adrenaline that shot through me at the very thought of her name and _the fact that she was alive down there right now_ was overwhelming, and it pushed aside all the exhaustion and pain that filled up the rest of my body.

"I'm going to find her," I said firmly, to convince myself as much as anyone else. "I'm taking the shuttle and I'm going." The Admirals had started talking again, arguing about what to do next, but I was done with them. I had a job to do.

"You're _bleeding_," Chakwas insisted, her eyes wide and frantic as she continued to prep James for surgery, "Kaidan if you do this there's a good chance you _won't_ make it back!"

It was like she was telling me the sky was blue. I filed her words under things that were completely irrelevant until I knew Jena was safe. Until I had her back. Everything else could wait.

"There's no other way off the Citadel," I replied, "If Jena's the one that opened the arms then she'll be _stuck_ down there and I'll be damned if I'm leaving her behind again. I'm _going_." I turned to leave, not even waiting for a response, but when she called my name, something in her stern voice made me glance back.

"Find her," Chakwas said quietly, as though she didn't want anyone else to hear, "I don't care how you do it, just bring her home. We've lost too many already."

I nodded, knowing full well that I'd come back _with_ her or not at all. The cool composure that came with having a new mission objective settled over me, as it had so many times before. I'd always been calm under pressure. That my ribs were still aching and my muscles were throbbing and my amp was already spiking with pain and _Jena's life hung in the balance _didn't make this any different. I still had a job to do.

In the elevator, I asked EDI if she and Joker had got all that, and she assured me that they'd be able to drop me somewhere nearby before hurrying off to their next engagement – as long as I did it _now_. 'Nearby' was a relative term, of course, but with EDI's upgrades to the shuttle's systems I might be able to make it. I strapped myself in without a second thought, shoving the bag of medigel off to one side, and fired up the engine. The bay doors opened, and I found myself in a warzone. They'd got me as close as they could, but the Reapers were everywhere, and at once I saw one change course to follow the Normandy, Joker making some impressive moves to get away. None of them noticed me, though. Or if they did, they didn't think I was important enough to engage.

In the tiny shuttle, I weaved through the carcases of ships and the blasts of guns, trying to remember the flying training I'd received many, many years ago. My shields took a huge hit when some debris flew towards me too quickly to dodge, but I told myself it didn't matter. I was still flying, and as long as I could _get_ there it would be fine. The Crucible was already docked. If it worked as we hoped, if we found a way to stop its energy from taking us _all _out, getting away would be easy. And if not…at least I'd be there with her. At least I'd be able to say I tried. It wasn't a happy ending, but it was an ending nonetheless, and after all we'd been through it felt liberating to know that, one way or the other, it would happen _today_.

When I got to the Citadel I ducked my shuttle closer to one of its arms to hide from the scattering of fire from all directions as I made my way towards the Presidium. I didn't know where I'd find her, or where that beam had taken her, but I knew where we'd been the last time we'd had to open the Citadel arms, so I aimed for the tower.

I swerved sharply as a Reaper blast cut through a ship and sent it colliding directly in front of the path I'd found between high-rise buildings in what had been one of the wealthier Wards. The whole damn station was being torn apart by collateral damage. Even though we'd been able to draw the Reapers further away, they must have seen the arms open too. They must have known something was up.

I'd just managed to get myself back on track, found the tower in my sights, when with a stab of horror I realised the whole structure was lit up by _fire_ that covered every window and filled every room. I'd barely had time to think about what that might mean when the entire tower just exploded, crimson light erupting from the Presidium and fanning out along the arms in a huge blast that was _coming towards me so quickly there was no way in hell I'd be able to—_

The light hit my windshield, passed through me, and went out clean the other side. Every instrument in front of me went blank and then whirred into life moments later with huge, flashing warning signs. I was so relieved to still be alive that I hardly even panicked. I pulled the controls up, tried to force them to respond, but the movements were jerky, difficult, most of the instruments weren't responding, and as I neared the Presidium I realised I wasn't sure if I could make the damn thing _stop_. The tower was approaching, and I threw everything I had into the forward thrusters, hurling me back against my seat as the shuttle spun off course, fell from the air, and skidded along the ground.

The screeching of metal stopped, and I finally let myself breathe. If I got out of this in one piece – if I found Jena – I'd never insult her driving _ever _again. I pulled up a damage report on my omnitool, and noted with a lump in my throat that most systems were offline, and those that _were_ responding were all flashing up with various errors. It must have been that blast of red light. Dimly, I realised that whatever it was had taken out every one of the systems that EDI had augmented. I didn't know what it meant. Not yet. Atmospheric scanners were still working, though, and as I unhooked myself from the harness the display told me the oxygen outside was thinning. No doubt due to the breaks in the ceiling that meant even with the Citadel's containment system, air was leaking out second by second. It didn't matter. I just had to find her.

The shuttle door opened with a hiss, and when I stepped outside the first thing I saw were the huge, cracked windows of the tower, and the wall of red light that was _still_ flowing out into space. A Reaper up above was caught in some kind of stasis, red lightning crackling over its body. It wasn't moving, it was being ripped apart by an Alliance ship, and all at once I understood that the Crucible must have fired. There was a moment when a problem you've been trying not to think about for _so long_ is suddenly resolved, a weight lifted from your body, and all I could do was stand and watch, stunned, as it sunk into me that it was over. We'd won. It had worked. She'd done it.

That meant she could still be alive. Victory only mattered to me if she stayed that way. I couldn't celebrate just yet, I'd deal with the emotions straining against my mental walls _later_, when I had her back.

Another alert flashed up on my hardsuit. Along with the injuries that medi-gel couldn't fix, it now told me there was less than fifteen minutes of air left in the tower. I had to be fast, but with my injury, running hurt like _hell_, and the lack of oxygen made me feel light headed when I moved too quickly. It didn't matter – not when I was so close. Pain spiking with every step, I made my way to the top of the tower, praying that I'd find her, praying she'd be okay.

I knew it wouldn't work, but I tried my commlink anyway as I limped, barking her name on every frequency just in case she could pick anything up. On the other end, there wasn't even static, just silence. I tried very, very hard to ignore the heaps of human bodies on all sides, piled up like fish waiting to be gutted. I had a mission. I had an objective. Everything else, everything I was feeling, it could all _wait_.

I rounded a corner, saw the console dead ahead, and there, slumped against the side, eyes closed, blood pooling on the floor, lay Jena. Ice-cold fear shot through me, every second before I got to her side felt like forever, and the pain I felt in my body was nothing compared to the _agony_ of seeing her like that.

"_Shepard_!" I called, vaulting up the stairs, skidding to a halt, falling to my knees, holding her face in my hands, searching for any kind of response, but her skin was cold and lifeless, and I couldn't feel her breathing. _No, no, no_! My fingers shook as I fumbled with the capsules of medi-gel I'd brought and shoved them into the receptor on her burned and broken armour. With a pathetic whirr, the delivery system kicked into motion, but that was when I saw the huge, gaping wound on her left arm, and the blood that pooled all around. Her skin was slick with it, covered in bruises and cuts. A burn the size of my palm had scorched the left side of her head behind her ear, and I could smell the burning of hair and flesh, the coppery taste of blood and death. It was like a dream. A sick, sick dream. And, once again, it was _real_. My head was pounding.

"Come on, Jena, come _on_," I hadn't checked her pulse yet. I couldn't face it. Instead, I grabbed the first thing I could think of to use as a tourniquet – my dog tags – and tied them tightly around her upper arm, just below where an entire section of her armour had been blown away, the skin with it. And then in desperation I took the rest of the medi-gel, broke open the capsules and smeared the salve over the wound on her arm. I saw the glinting of metal below her ruined flesh, and realised it must have been one of the limbs Cerberus had given her. The wound was still bleeding. That meant _something_ inside her was still pumping away, still working. I told myself she'd been through worse. She'd been through worse and she'd still found her way back, to the world and to _me_. She would come back from this too, she _had_ to.

Frantically, I tried to get my commlink to contact the Normandy, but there was no response. There was nothing on any channel. No one in the world but the two of us, alone in this cold, dead place.

There was another wound in her side, a gunshot, and I applied medi-gel to that too, on top of the serum that was working its way into her skin through her armour's delivery system. I forced myself to breathe, praying that this wasn't all futile, that she'd be fine in the end and I wasn't just—

Something caught in her throat, a gasp, a gurgle, and the sound made my head snap up in the sudden realisation that she really was _alive_. I grabbed her face again, fingers soaked in her blood and medi-gel, and I knew I'd give up everything I had just to see her eyes open again.

"Jena, _Jena_!" There was another weak, ragged breath, an unconscious smacking of her lips as she sucked in air. "Jena _please_, wake up, you have to wake up, you can't stay here, we have to _move_."

"Nuh…nughhh," she gurgled, her head trying to turn to one side, away from me. I pushed back one of her eyelids to force her to _focus_, and was rewarded with her pupil contracting as the light beamed in. She was alive. The medi-gel was working at that very second to stop the bleeding and anaesthetise some of the pain, to keep her going until we got to a hospital. If I could just wake her up, get her out of here, she might make it out of here alive. We could both survive this thing, to hell with the odds.

My hardsuit beeped at me, a message flashing up that insisted air was leaking out of the station every second I waited and that I had to get back to the shuttle _immediately_. Not without her, though. I was never leaving her behind again. I started to unhook parts of her armour, the things she wouldn't need, and tried to think of how the hell I'd get her safe when it felt like every bit of strength was being drained from my body moment by moment.

"Jena you have to wake up," I said quickly, swallowing the lump in my throat, "You can't leave me, not yet, you _have_ to wake up. We're going to get out of this together. We're going to get through this; we're going to get all the things I promised you. We can have it all. You just need to wake up. You just need to _stay alive_."

"N…no," she mumbled, her eyes squinting shut, medi-gel leaking from the cracks of her suit, "No, I…I…"

"_Yes_, you can, you have to—"

"_Please_," she whimpered, fresh tear tracks streaking her face like she was caught in the grips of a nightmare, "_please_…I just…I just want to stop." Her eyes were still closed, and she spat out blood when she tried to talk again, voice raw and ragged, "Don't let them bring me back again. Not again. I can't do this all again. I'm so…I'm so _tired_."

It broke my damn heart to hear her, to think of all that she'd done and all that the world had demanded of her, but it didn't change my mission. It didn't change what I came here to do. I didn't care if it was selfish, me asking her for _more_ on top of everything else, I didn't care if she was angry at me or if every word she said hurt to hear, I just needed her to stay alive. I just needed to know that there was a world at the end of it all with her in it.

I put another two medi-gel capsules in her armour, making up for the salve that had leaked through the broken connections. She'd been hit so hard and she'd kept going, until the end. But it wasn't the end yet. It couldn't be.

"I know," I said, easing my arm around her, cradling her head as best I could with my bulky armour, "and I promise it'll all be over soon, it'll all be finished, but you just need to do one more thing, Shepard. Just one more thing. You need to _stay alive_," It felt like I was begging her, but I'd beg if that was what it took, "Can you do that for me?"

"Please…" she murmured again, as though she couldn't even hear me, "I'm…I…you can't let them have me. You…you can't. Tell…tell Alenko. Tell Kaidan. He'll…he'll know…"

"I'm _here_," I held her closer, trying to make her comfortable as I kissed her matted hair. She smelled of smoke and sweat and blood, and just beneath that there was something like vanilla. I closed my eyes, savouring the moment, "I'm here. And I'm getting you home. _I'm_ saving _you_ this time."

My hardsuit beeped again, telling me there were minutes left before all the oxygen was sucked from the huge structure we were in. I didn't know _where_ I could take her, but I couldn't stay here.

"You're gonna be okay," I murmured, sliding my other arm under her legs, "you're gonna be—" the breath was punched from my lungs as I picked her up, pain lancing through my ribs and making my legs feel weak. She gave a feeble cry of protest at the movement, her head lolling against my chest. Each step I took towards the shuttle was agony – the cuts melded together by medi-gel had been ripped open, and the total exhaustion and overworking of my biotics was starting to catch up with me.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Only _she_ mattered. I wouldn't let her die. As long as I was on my feet, I'd keep going. One foot in front of the other. Her left arm hung by her side, still dead and useless even though the bleeding had stopped. The weight of her in my arms made me feel strong, made me think there was _nothing_ I couldn't do as long as it was for her. With moments left, my head swimming with each step, we reached the shuttle.

Air escaped as we slipped inside the door, but there was still enough left in the tiny craft for us to breathe. With a groan of effort I lowered her into one of the seats and fired up the shuttle's systems. It didn't look good – the blast that had wiped out the Reapers together with the crash had limited our options. Life support was down, so were comms and weapons and…and pretty much every damn system that wasn't the thrusters. So we'd be able to get off the Citadel – we'd have to if we wanted to survive – but we wouldn't be able to hail any ships, and without oxygen we wouldn't be able to stay in space.

I tried to call EDI again, just in case, but no one was responding. I wondered if the Normandy had been affected by the red blast too, or even EDI herself seeing as her upgrades were the ones malfunctioning. Around me, there was nothing but radio silence, Shepard's ragged breathing, and the strained hum of the engine. Looking up through the windscreen, I saw Earth, and I knew what we had to do.

"Jena, are you still with me?" I asked as I strapped myself into the pilot's chair and shook my head to clear out the mental fog creeping up the back of my neck, "_Jena_?" She let out a pissed-off groan in response, and it was enough to let me know she was alive. I powered up the shuttle's thrusters, put the blue planet in my sights, and lifted off from the Citadel.

If we could only get to Earth, it would all be okay. It had to be okay. Earth had oxygen and hospitals, and there was nowhere else this shuttle could reach in time. It wasn't an elegant plan, but it didn't need to be – it only needed to _work. _The beam from the Citadel was gone, and the station was no longer orbiting the planet, the Reapers no longer controlling everything. All around me, through my swimming vision that I focused squarely on my target, I could see the enemy we'd thought indestructible being picked off like they were nothing. It would have been incredible to watch, but I had other priorities.

I wove through the rubble drifting in the void, the ship's controls stiff and unresponsive. Maybe that was just my fingers. Even here on the shuttle my breaths felt shallow, and I knew the atmosphere of the Citadel wasn't the only thing responsible for the fire in my lungs. I also knew that as soon as the adrenaline subsided, I'd fall to the floor and sleep for days. I knew that, so I kept my teeth tightly clenched together and my eyes wide open. Navigation was offline too. Earth grew bigger in front of me, and not for the first time since I'd left the Normandy it occurred to me that this was a _really_ stupid plan. I glanced over at Jena, her dead arm hanging limply by one side as the other clutched at her harness, and I knew it was worth it.

I thought it was what _she'd_ do if she was able. I was just taking a leaf out of her book – I'd already imagined the world the way I wanted it to be, and now I was doing whatever had to be done to make sure it _was_ that way. Earth might have been an impossible target, but I'd make it. I'd save her, whatever it took. For once, I'd be able to _save her_.

An alert pierced through the haze between my ears, and I realised that the redness on the edge of my vision wasn't just tiredness, it was the sides of the shuttle burning up. The goddamn atmospheric shields weren't working either. Whatever kinetic shields we'd had were taken out by the debris, and the systems were too damaged to regenerate. We'd burn up in seconds without those shields.

Without warning a coldness washed over me, not quite fear, more like the strange, detachedness from your actions that comes from knowing you're probably going to die soon. I pushed it aside. It didn't matter. Not when I had something I cared about so much more than my own life. Even if this was all stupid, even if it was hopeless, at the very least I could die knowing I did everything I could to hold onto that future we'd promised each other. That would be enough.

Feeling like I was watching someone else control my body, I held onto the controls to the shuttle with one hand, and I raised the other. Biotic fire crackled between my fingers and, struggling to keep focus, I formed a barrier in front of the shuttle. It wouldn't hold for long, but it might hold for long _enough_. I looked over at Jena one last time, something to give me strength, and I grit my teeth as the shuttle pierced Earth's atmosphere. It felt like all the heat and pressure slamming against the biotic wall was concentrated at the back of my neck and spiking up to my brain. It was agony, I wanted to _scream, _but it didn't matter. I could hold it. I had to _hold it_.

Something cracked, ripped off the side of the shuttle, but we were still alive, still moving, so that didn't matter either. I felt the barrier waver and threw the last reserves of my strength to bolster it up. I tasted blood, felt my ears ringing _so loud_, but all at once we were through the atmosphere and I saw _Earth_, shining like a beacon. We were almost there. Almost home. But we were coming in too fast. The shuttle wasn't responding, and when I tried to throw the thrusters into reverse it made barely any difference. There was only one thing I could do. One last chance.

In front of the shuttle, the ground grew ever closer. We'd come down by the sea, and with what little control I had left I aimed for the water. My amp was _on fire_, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered if I could just land, if I could just get her to safety. I locked the controls in place, threw both my hands out, and poured every last scrap of energy I had into controlling a warp field that could slow us down. The ground was still coming up too fast. I grit my teeth, tried to make it stronger, tried to slow us enough, but I'd barely taken a breath before the shuttle plunged into water, the pain of my amp _shattering_ every nerve in my body, and my world went black.

oOoOoOo

_Shepard_

I felt myself jolt forward, something shocking me into life, and I opened my eyes. I didn't know where I was, why _everything_ hurt, how I'd got into a shuttle or why water was rushingin from a breach in the side. If I stayed here, if I didn't move, I'd drown. But I was so tired, every part of my weary body felt like it had been pushed to its limits and _beyond_, and my imminent death didn't seem like a good enough reason to keep going. And then I looked to my right, saw Kaidan slumped over the controls, blood running from his ear and smeared over his mouth, and suddenly I was filled with the kind of frayed, adrenaline-fuelled alertness that would leave me limp and helpless if I took even a _moment_ to question it. Whatever this was, however it had happened, I had to get him out of here. I had to _move_.

I screamed internally at my body to _get up_ and though my left arm wasn't responding, with my right I managed to reach up and claw at the buckle I didn't remember closing in the first place. Somehow my body had carried me this far – now it would just have to carry me a little bit further. Kaidan too. I slid from the chair and flopped onto the floor, crying out pathetically as every muscle _screamed_ in protest. Something ripped open in my torso, and when the ruined flesh of my arm thudded against the console the cry froze in my throat, white-hot agony piercing me like a blade.

I looked up again, at Kaidan's face creased in pain, the blood dripping from a wound in his head and his nose to the controls in front of him. He was bleeding from his ears too, and the veins around his neck were raised and dark. That wasn't a good sign. I'd find the strength. I had to. With my good arm I dragged myself to my feet, feeling adrenaline pounding in my ears, and I unbuckled him from his chair. I couldn't carry the both of us, I could barely _stand_, but I didn't have to. Clenching my jaw tightly against the pain, I crawled over to the emergency hatch, struggled with the package of the slim life raft before ripping it open with my teeth, and slid back down the shuttle to where Kaidan was still lifeless in his chair. I got a mouthful of water and tasted salt, the same stuff that was getting into my wounds and burning like the pits of hell. A sick part of my consciousness reminded me that he'd promised to take me to the seaside one day. I'd have spat the words '_this doesn't fucking count'_ if I could just have got my voice to do anything but whimper in pain. I didn't know how far down underwater we were, but we'd stopped moving, and the shuttle was filling up fast. I prayed we were near land.

It was a longshot, but I'd built my career on longshots. I struggled to tie one of the straps of the life raft to Kaidan's armour, my one good arm even more useless now that it was wet. And then I held him tight, not letting myself relax for a second in case my entire body gave up, and I pulled the cord on the life raft moments before pounding my boot against the emergency release for the escape hatch.

My world exploded into sound and action and _pain_ as water pounded against our bodies, the life raft inflating in an instant and dragging us out of the door. There were moments of perfect silence as we were pulled to the surface, a bright light up above and a black cloud of oil and blood left below. I held onto Kaidan with everything I had left, shutting my eyes tightly and focusing on nothing but the feeling of his armour against mine, holding my breath and counting down the seconds. He'd been my lifeline so many times before, and now he was again.

Freezing air hit my face and I knew we'd broken the surface. My arm was still tight around him, but the crashing of waves was stronger than my last reserves of strength, and I was ripped away. I wanted to cry out and then I just wanted to _cry. _My body was thrown about like a ragdoll, I tried to find him but I couldn't swim, could barely stay afloat, and every movement sent the ache of my injuries shooting through my side. My left arm was worse than useless.

Suddenly I saw sparks as I was hurled against something solid, and when I howled in pain I realised I was lying still. I felt the water curl away from me, shunting my body further onto dry land, leaving me limp and lifeless.

I flung out my hand, tried to find Kaidan, but he wasn't there. I didn't know _where_ he was. A convulsion wracked my body, a sob colliding with adrenaline withdrawal, and I forced my eyes to open again.

The feeling flooded from my limbs, where had once been excruciating pain was now nothing but numbness. I didn't have the strength to turn my head to see if he was lying next to me, but some instinctive part of me knew that he _was_. He was here, we were safe, lying on this…this beach. There was the softest sand beneath my broken body, the water warm and comforting, like a blanket as it lapped gently against me. Deep in my bones, I knew it would all be fine. My world had been dark moments before, but now there was sunlight, the brightest sunlight I'd ever seen shining into my eyes, blinding me but I refused to close my eyes. I couldn't. Not yet. I wanted to experience this. I wanted to know it was real this time. I wanted to know it was really over.

The fear I'd felt in the ocean had passed, replaced by euphoria and the realisation that, for once, I wasn't lying to myself. There really _was _nothing left to do, no more fights to win, no possible way I could act _any_ differently.

For once, I could actually _stop_. Take a moment. Relax.

I wished I had the strength to move my hand, just a few inches, and take his hand in mine. I knew he'd squeeze back.

The light grew brighter, white-hot, and the pain melted away as I felt myself lifted into the sky above.

There was a light. There had never been a light before, not last time or the time before or any of the other times I'd known it was the end. Maybe there was a light this time because, finally, it was _real_. This time I was really done. I let it all go, all the unfinished business and regrets, the mistakes, _all of it_. This time, when my head swam and my eyes wanted nothing more than to drift shut and never open again, I let it happen. I felt the life leave my body and I hoped – _I prayed_ – I was finally going somewhere better.

* * *

**Chapter 32: Purgatory** – The war is won and the world moves on to a brighter tomorrow. But one soldier is stuck in between, with no missions to complete or battles to fight, waiting for a future that's already long gone.


	33. Purgatory

A.N. I wrote out parts of this chapter right after I finished Mass Effect 3 for the first time. I was angry and bitter and I felt completely, _completely_ shellshocked, so I got all my angst out on the page. Aaaand then I decided to write all of Jena's story because I hated the way Bioware finished it, and Fly By Night happened. So here's my post-game angst! I have no idea how it got so long either. A LOT of headcanons to cram in...

**Chapter 32:** Purgatory

_Shepard_

I swam up through a lake of crude oil. Thick and suffocating, it filled my lungs, my throat, welded my eyes shut but still I kept going. In my dreams haunted by nothing but darkness and the screeching of metal on a chalkboard, there had been no end, nothing had been real, nightmare flooded into nightmare, but now I felt I had a purpose. Now I knew that I was fighting _towards_ something, that if I could just keep clawing my way through this mass of empty space, there might be life on the other side.

I burst through, breaking the surface, and all at once my face felt freezing cold. I took a breath and life shot into my body, forcing me awake with a shock of electricity, icy and violent. My eyes flew open, and all I saw was shadows and strange lights, images flashing in my mind and blending together like a vivid dream, but something told me this was _real_.

Pain shot across my limbs and pulled me back down like the tentacles of a monster when I tried to jolt upright. Panicking, I grabbed at the wires holding me in place and ripped them from my arms, blood splattering starkly across my chest all clothed in white. There was some kind of alarm howling in my ears, a siren that was getting more and more urgent. I knew this was real, and yet it still felt like I was trapped in a waking nightmare. Sudden fear gripped me at my core as I looked down at the blood and fluids leaking from the holes in my arms.

It was the Reapers. I _knew_ it was the Reapers. They must have captured me, filled me with _poison_ and left me here to rot. Not on my watch. I gripped the sides of the platform I sat on, the material world blurring in and out of focus, but my hands slipped and I tumbled to the floor, crying out with the shock of how much it all _hurt_. I looked up and watched the walls of this place shift and change before my eyes, just like they had when I'd been on the Citadel. Or was that the Collector's ship? The Shadow Broker's base? It was…I couldn't…I felt…

Someone grabbed my shoulder when I tried to get up, and at once I jerked my elbow back to collide with their face. There was a muffled grunt but I was already scrambling to my feet and on the move. Whatever they'd done to me, whatever was happening, I wouldn't let them have me. I wouldn't let them stop me. I'd kill every one of them with my bare hands first.

I groped along the walls, my hands numb and unresponsive, my legs made of solid lead. It was hard to breathe, even harder to stay awake and on my feet, but I'd been through worse and still survived. I stumbled down a long corridor, dark and ethereal but illuminated with red lights that shifted out of focus when I tried to look at them. This place smelled of blood and sickness and _death_. Someone ran towards me, a shadowy creature shaped like a human but I knew it was a husk. It tried to grab my arm and I punched it with what little energy I had. It doubled over and a kick sent it sprawling. Everything hurt like hell, and when I tried to grab at a door with my left hand it was like I was a mannequin, my fingers welded into place and blurring when I moved.

_What the hell did they do to me?_

I pushed past another creature, but it grabbed whatever it was I was wearing and threw me off balance. Head spinning, I crashed into a wall, grunted with pain, and it was only then that I heard something I recognised – my name. It was being called, _shouted_ as though from a long way away. Something about it was familiar, and the urgency in the tone made me want to turn around, but what if it was a trick? A trap? I couldn't take any chances. Not in this state.

And then I felt a pair of hands grab my shoulders and hold me still, so strong that I couldn't break free with my weakened body. I heard my name again, looked up, tried to focus through the haze and suddenly—

"—pard, Shepard! _Jena!_"

The breath froze in my throat, and suddenly it was ten years ago and for the first time in my life I'd found myself saluting not because I had to but because I respected the man in front of me too much _not_ to. A name etched itself onto my bran. Anderson. David Anderson.

I looked into his eyes, my body still tense and ready to bolt at any second, and I followed the shape of his mouth as it formed words I could barely hear.

"…okay…it's all _okay_, everything's going to be just fine. You have to _calm down_. You have to _relax_, do you understand? You have to—"

Something sharp pricked at my arm, and straight away I knew a needle had jabbed into my flesh. Panic shot through me again, and I remembered what I'd seen. I'd watched him _die_, he wasn't real, _this_ couldn't be real! I shouted, my voice ragged and weak, my arms jerking pointlessly to get away, my body squirming even as more thick hands held me down, limbs getting weaker every second that the toxin worked its way into my blood.

I couldn't go down like this. Not like _this_. Please…

The muffled voices drained away, my muscles relaxed against my will, and I fell back down into the sea of smoke and oil that was my dreams.

oOoOoOo

I opened my eyes to the sound of my own gasping breaths, sudden lucidity wiping clean the nightmares like they had never existed. Sunlight was streaming through an open window, giving a stark contrast to everything in this small, cramped room. I tried to move my arms but they wouldn't budge, and looking down I realised it was because I was restrained, tied to the bed like a wild animal as wires coiled into my skin below the heavy blanket on top. I tried to think, tried to remember what the hell had happened, but the only memory that surfaced was of the last time I'd woken up like this, and all at once images filled my mind of needles, blackness, Cerberus logos and two years of my life wasted on an operating table.

Squirming furiously against the restraints, my limbs felt weak, like I'd been drugged. I probably _had_, but that sure as shit wouldn't stop me. There was a beeping noise, an alarm getting louder and louder, faster and faster, but I ignored it as I worked to free my legs from the straps that bound them down. My muscles screamed at me with every movement, but adrenaline was making them stronger. I grit my teeth, trying to twist my body in some unnatural way so I could get loose, the alarm growing more urgent by the second and—

The door burst open and I jolted up in surprise, my eyes locking with Anderson's at once, people in white coats rushing in behind him. He came to my bedside, hands pressing my pathetically weak shoulders back down to the bed and barking an order for the others to back off, one poised with a syringe. I stared into his eyes, trying to figure out what the hell was real, and listened to the sound of his voice.

"It's okay," he said soothingly, "_listen_ to me, Shepard. You're okay. You're _safe_. Just breathe, nice and slowly. Just relax..." I kept my face hard and impassive, though my eyes were wide with adrenaline, and tried to do what he said.

The alarm began to quieten and slow until it became a series of quick, even beeps. It was only then I realised the best explanation for all this was that I was in a hospital, and the alarm I heard was just my goddamn heart monitor.

"Safe," I croaked, more of a question than a statement as I looked up at him like a lost child.

"That's right," he nodded, "We're safe here."

I wanted to trust him. I really did, but in my head there was nothing but confusion. If I was safe then I sure as hell shouldn't be tied up like this, and who the _fuck_ had filled me with these sedatives? My eyes flicked down to the restraints on my arms, and he caught on immediately, backing off and telling the others that had come in with him to cut me loose. They were eyeing me like I was a starving tiger, like I'd slit their throats as soon as I could, and one asked hesitantly if he was sure. I noticed that she had a black eye and a stitched-up cut on her cheekbone. I didn't ask why.

"_Yes_, I'm sure," Anderson said wearily, "take those things off then leave us be. She'll be fine, right, Shepard?" He looked back at me, and I realised this was a request for me to behave myself. I nodded, and though my mind was still racing I let my body relax back into the bed. Warily, the assembled medical staff undid my restraints from under the blanket and filed out of the room as I lay there with my eyes roaming over the machines hooked up to my body, each one displaying a huge spike of activity from just moments ago when I'd burst into consciousness.

Latent adrenaline was still coursing through me, and I felt ready to pounce at a second's notice even though I could barely move. What the hell had happened to me? And what could he _possibly_ mean by 'safe' when there was a damn _war_ on?

Images forced their way into my head, and I could tell Anderson was talking but I couldn't hear a single word because all I could picture was his eyes going dark, blood coursing from so many wounds, icy fingers clamping around my mind and making me squeeze the trigger of the gun pointed straight at his—

"What?" He asked suddenly, and there was silence. The fog fell away, and there was only he and I in this room, right here, right now. All the rest was like some terrible nightmare. I realised I must have said something, but I couldn't remember what. And then the words came to me again, and this time my voice was barely a whisper.

"I watched you die," I said, turning my aching neck to look him right in the eye, my throat raw, "On the Citadel, before I opened the arms. You were right there, they made me _shoot_ you, and I watched you die."

His stance deflated, his brows drawing together with that sad, sympathetic look I'd seen so many times before on the faces of doctors who thought they were helping by scolding me for not getting enough rest or for not taking the concept of 'shore leave' or 'severely injured' or 'PTSD' seriously enough for their liking. Without a word, he picked up a bottle of water from the table at the side, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to me. My left arm could barely move, but I eased my right out from under the blanket, elbow spiking with pain, snatched the bottle from his hand and gulped the contents down greedily, the cold filling me up and making me feel alive. When it was empty and half-crushed in my hand, I lay back, exhausted, panting, and looked over to find he'd pulled up a chair and was sitting by my bedside, that thoughtful look still on his face.

"What do you think happened?" he asked carefully, "What do you remember?"

What a question. When I tried to reach back into the past all I could find was screeching static, pain and blackness. I closed my eyes, and my head filled with fog.

"I don't know," I replied haltingly, clearing my throat, "I…don't remember much of anything. It's all…in pieces. Like broken glass. It hurts to think about." Something occurred to me, a thought that didn't frighten me as much as it should have. "Did I die too?"

"No," he said firmly, cutting that idea off before it had a chance to fester, "_No_, Shepard, you and I are both very much alive. Your sedatives won't have worn off yet, so things might be a little hazy, but I promise you this is _real_." I stared into his eyes and saw no deception, just the insistence that I trust him, something I'd always done before, and now it seemed I didn't have a choice. 'Hazy' wasn't the half of it, though. I didn't know what to think. "This is a rehab facility," he continued, "on a small island in the Pacific. The Reapers didn't touch it, too remote, so it's been repurposed as a hospital and recovery facility for soldiers injured in the war."

I caught maybe half of what he said.

"I'm alive," I croaked again, just to clarify.

"You are," he nodded, "It was damn close, but thanks to your implants and a lot of luck, you pulled through. They…couldn't save your hand, though."

_What the hell?_

I looked down, used my right hand to throw back the blanket over my left, and found that it _wasn't there_. The sight made me feel detached from my own body, like I was floating in the air looking down at someone else, because it sure as hell couldn't be my _own_ forearm that was split in two and covered in a thick bandage. That was why I couldn't feel it. It wasn't the damn anaesthetic, it just _wasn't there_. All that remained was a fucking stump, like I was a doll someone hadn't finished assembling. Images flickered in front of my eyes, of pain slicing through my body, blood gushing from my wrist, skin covered in burns, digging through my own flesh for—

I opened my eyes, not even realising I'd closed them, and it occurred to me that at least it was my left and not my right. At least I could still shoot. At least the only thing that had been broken was metal and synthetic flesh, not my body, not my _will_.

"You'll get a prosthetic soon," he said gently, "and with any luck you'll be back to your old self in a few weeks."

_My old self._ The concept was one I couldn't wrap my head around. Trying to think of a time _before_ I'd woken up in this place was like watching a vid of someone else's life. Everything about this felt _wrong_, somehow. I hoped to hell it was just the damn meds, but my gut told me otherwise.

"I…" I tried to think of how to put the turmoil in my head into words, how to explain to my old CO how absolutely _fucked-up_ I felt. "I can't…" I can't remember a damn thing. It's all in jumbles and everything feels like another nightmare and I keep expecting to wake up at any second and be back at war, back in the middle of a damn fire fight, and part of me hopes it'll actually _happen_ because at least then I'd know what to do…

His hand covered mine, gripped it tight, and I realised I'd been shaking. I sucked a breath in through my nose and let it out through my mouth to try and calm down, but all it did was make my head swim again.

"Tell me what happened," I said finally, deciding that I was in no state to give my opinion on a damn thing until I knew what was what. Until I could put it all in order.

"They pieced a timeline together from comm channels and the wreckage of the Citadel, but…there's still a lot we don't know. We were hoping you'd be able to fill in the blanks when you woke up. Do you remember the assault on Earth?" I remembered the dark night sky, the familiar cityscapes of human architecture reduced to rubble. I remembered giving some kind of inspirational speech about how what we would do in the next few hours would echo throughout the galaxy. I remembered checking my gun for one last time before we moved out. I nodded. "And do you remember reaching the beam? When Harbinger attacked?"

I thought of that beam, the goal that was so close but _so far away_ all at once. It came to me in flashes. We'd had a clear shot, a path through the battlefield, but within seconds the Reaper had come and the entire scenario had changed. In an instant I'd known it was all futile, that we'd never make it, but I hadn't wanted to believe it. That was our _only_ shot, and I knew it. I'd wanted to believe we could still make it if only we pushed _hard_ enough, if I just zeroed in on the light and blocked everything else out, but then…then we'd been hit, I'd turned to see my squad on the floor and I'd known there was no way in hell I could keep running, because they'd just try to follow and they _couldn't_. I'd called it in without a second's hesitation.

I'd looked him straight in the eyes as though I had every intention of going with him, even though there was nothing inside me that would let me walk away from the fight.

'_No_, _I'm leaving you_.'

I'd got him out, at least. That was the important thing. Knowing he was safe was all that had let me run straight into hell without looking back. Knowing he was okay was all that stopped me from panicking even more right now.

"I remember," I said finally, swallowing the thoughts and memories and stowing them away, "I called in an evac for the others, and then I…I made it through. Harbinger almost got me, that attack disintegrated the guys to my left but it only just grazed me. My armour got…torn apart. I remember that. I remember flying back and…"

I looked down at the stump of my hand, the thing my mind still wasn't ready to believe was _mine_. It felt like it was cramped up, clenched into a fist even though there was nothing there to cramp. I felt the heat of the blast tearing across my skin, ripping off my armour like it was cheap plastic and taking the flesh with it. I remembered trying to scream but all I'd been able to breathe in was fire. My left leg was still in a medigel cast. I remembered that too, the muscles failing as I tried to walk so I just had to spit the blood from my mouth and _crawl_.

I remembered the glint of metal buried in my wrist as I sat, choking on tears, blood pooling on the ground, making patterns amongst the rubble…

"I got up," I said, needing to talk just to calm the thrum of residual adrenaline in my ears, "and it was all…I think I was concussed, deafened, it was like a dream. I was trying to walk, and…I got shot. I shot the fucker right back, but it…"

I brought the hand I could still use to my side, just under my ribs, and felt the familiar ache of a healing bullet wound. Inch by inch, it was all coming back to me.

"I was bleeding. It hurt like hell, but I made it to the beam. And then I…"

In my mind, there was a huge, black, oily wall in front of _everything_ else. I pushed through it, and all at once nausea cramped around my stomach and I seized up, hitched forward to retch but there was nothing to come out. The spike of panic left me breathless, and with my one hand I gripped the side of the bed like I might float away at any second.

"We don't have to do this now, Shepard," Anderson said gently. I knew he wasn't just here for personal reasons – likely he was sent as a friendly face to pump me for information, something he could feed back to those in charge until I was well enough to make an actual report. But I didn't mind. I knew how it went. And I'd rather do this _now_ than be alone with my thoughts.

"No I…I have to get it right in my head, I just…"

I leaned back and closed my eyes tight, processing the memories as they came back, one after the other. I remembered the feeling of my thoughts being pushed aside, my mind being invaded, inky blackness swimming in the corners of my eyes, that buzzing noise in the back of my skull grinding away louder and louder until it drowned everything else and my world went white and suddenly I was walking in this place that looked nothing like the Citadel I remembered but somehow I'd _known_ it was and…and Anderson had been there, _and_ the Illusive Man, I'd watched them both die but how the hell could they possibly—"

"They took me over," I said, almost to myself. The thought came to me suddenly, like a secret you've tried so hard to forget, and the ringing in my ears quietened down until once again it was just the beeping of my heart monitor. "The Reapers. I've spent so much time around them and their artefacts, I'd felt it for weeks before the attack. I'd felt...vulnerable, like there were these noises following me around. But when I was on the Citadel I was so weak and they just…forced themselves into my head."

His lips pursed in thought, "You were indoctrinated?"

"I don't know," I murmured, "I don't…I don't think it was the same. It wasn't like what I'd seen before in other people. With them it happened over time, like brainwashing, but with me…it was so sudden. So forceful. It's like…whatever they tried, they couldn't change my mind, so they changed the facts, they changed what I saw to make me act how they wanted." A memory screamed into focus, sharp like static, and I winced. "I opened the Citadel arms. I don't know how. You were there, and the Illusive Man was there, and…and none of it made any sense, and all I could think was I _had_ to open the arms, and then…I…_fuck_." I brought my hand up to knead at my head, aching with the effort of forcing the buried thoughts into the light.

"What else do you remember?" Anderson pushed further, his gaze focused and intense, "Just say it, however crazy you think it sounds, just get it out."

"I was on the floor," I said breathlessly, vocalising the images that flashed before my eyes, "and…it lifted. I don't know how, I don't think it was even attached to anything, but…at the time it seemed to make sense. There was so much blood everywhere. And then I was somewhere else, on a platform in space but I didn't recognise it. There was this kid. This stupid kid that I…I kept seeing him in dreams after I left Earth, and he told me all this…this _insane_ shit about how it was all inevitable, how the Reapers were just helping things along. The kind of things the Leviathan said before. I don't think any of it was even _real_." Saying it out loud immediately made me feel better. The urgency and pain that came along with those memories dulled, until they were nothing more than a story I'd been told, a waking nightmare I'd had that was all over now. Saying it out loud cemented the truth in my fractured mind, and at once I could breathe easier.

"I think…" I started slowly, "I think the Reapers think they're gods, or that what they're doing is right, and they wanted me to think the same thing. They're not _evil_; they're just…badly programmed. I think they respected me, in a way. Or they were scared. They wanted to justify it to me the same way they justify it to themselves, make me see their version of the truth. But…it didn't work." I didn't tell him what else I remembered – the feeling of wanting nothing more than to throw myself into that beam of light that would seal the galaxy's fate forever. I didn't tell him that in that moment I'd just wanted to _end_ it, take the easy way out and just have it _done_, that it was only my own stubbornness that kept me sane.

"Maybe they _thought_ they were gods," Anderson said after a while, "but we can't ask them. They're all dead. Inactive. Do you…remember how that happened?"

They're all dead. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew he was telling the truth, but it didn't seem real. It didn't seem possible. Maybe I just needed time.

"I woke up. I don't know how or why, but something changed and I woke up. I was in the Citadel Tower, and the arms were open and I…I remember hearing Hackett's voice over my commlink but he couldn't hear me. I…I had to dig my omnitool chip out of my arm." I glanced down at the stump, "It was too fucked up to use it normally, it got blasted to shreds by the Reaper. That's…that's probably why they couldn't save it. Not much left to save."

"Why did you need your omnitool?"

"I had to get the Prothean code we got on Ilos to unblock the signal," I said, reciting my pained thought process like they were lines from a script, "That was the only thing stopping the Crucible from working as soon as it docked – the thing that stopped Sovereign from taking the station over when he invaded. It stopped the Citadel – the Catalyst – from linking up all the Reapers. When the block got removed it let the Crucible focus its fire on the Reapers. I…I watched it happen. That's the last thing I remember."

I looked over at Anderson and he was sitting back in his chair, deep in thought, looking at me like he was seeing me for the first time. As though I could still surprise him after all these years.

"It makes sense," he said at last, like he was talking more to himself than to me, "The Reapers' invasion was compromised from the start because of your actions against Sovereign. With their link to the Citadel severed they weren't able to use it right away, and they weren't able to properly defend it against being used by the Crucible. The galaxy owes you even more than I thought."

My eyes dropped to my lap, to my hand cradling my stump and the glimpse of tattooed birds slipping into the material of my bandage.

"I didn't do it for the damn galaxy," I muttered.

"I don't think they much care," he replied with a shrug, "As soon as the Crucible fired, every one of the Reaper troops on the ground and in the air were disabled. I barely believed it. We were being overrun, and you turned the tide of the war in seconds. We declared victory soon afterwards, once we knew they were down for good. That was just over three weeks ago. You've been in a medically induced coma for that time, though you still managed to break out yesterday." He smirked, trying to inject a little levity into the conversation, "Gave the nurses a hell of a scare, though I've got to say I was half expecting it. You've never been very good at following doctor's orders, especially when it comes to letting _anaesthetic_ work."

Three weeks. The unit of time entered one ear, passed through my brain as useless, meaningless information, and went clean out the other side. I lolled my head to the side to look out of the large window, to the sunlight filtering in through the thin curtains. In the distance, I heard ocean birds and the sounds of life. It still didn't feel real. Nothing did.

"How did I get here?" I asked after a while, deciding it was time to stop ignoring the burning questions lining up in my mind and get _answers_, good or bad.

Anderson paused, like he was carefully considering every word, "You don't remember?"

"Nothing," I confirmed, "I remember seeing the Reapers disabled. I remember being on the Citadel, but that's all. I was so sure I was about to die."

There was silence again, and I could tell he was avoiding saying something. It made me nervous, skittish. Maybe that was just the hunger curling around my insides.

I wished Kaidan was here too. He'd know just what to say.

"You were found washed up on a beach near Brighton, England, not long after the Reapers were disabled. It was lucky, you know – they tell me that you were a few degrees off slamming right into a cliff. Some soldiers nearby saw your shuttle crash and thought it might be some remaining Reaper forces, but when they ID'd you they called it in."

The beach. At the mention of the beach something else pierced the darkness.

"There was a light," I said quietly, staring at the curtains swaying with the breeze.

"A light?"

"A bright light. Like the sun. I remember feeling…warm. I remember the sound of the waves, the softness of the sand, and…and the light. I…part of me thought I'd already died. It felt like…like I was floating."

"You'd...lost a lot of blood, Shepard," Anderson said carefully, like he was trying very hard not to upset a wild animal. It was his fault – he'd _asked_ to hear all the crazy shit in my head. "It was 0400 when the shuttle crash was reported. Any light you saw would have been artificial, maybe the soldiers arriving. As for sand, in that area there isn't any for miles. Chances are you were pretty disoriented. But…but look, that doesn't matter now. All that matters is you got to a medical facility in time."

I bowed my head, his words stirring up something ugly inside me. _No_, I thought, it _isn't_ all that matters. Why the hell did everyone keep acting like I was the most important thing there was? It was bullshit. I'd already done my job. I'd been ready for the end. I'd been ready to slip away knowing that they didn't need me anymore. What was the point in fighting to save me when I'd already given everything I had? What _else_ could they ask of me?

"What's on your mind?" Anderson interrupted my downward spiral of dark thoughts, and I realised my brows had been tensing up together like I was about to burst into tears. My lips were curled back like I wanted to fight. But I couldn't fight – I could barely move.

"So it's really over?" I asked again, my voice tight. I could feel my hands wanting to tense up into fists, but only one was responding. "Just like that? The Reapers are gone and the war is over and now I'm a great big _fucking_ hero again for stopping them, _just like that_?"

"It hardly happened overnight," he said in a voice I knew was supposed to soothe me, but it had rarely worked before and it sure as hell wasn't working now, "We planned that operation for _weeks_, and the work you did recruiting armies was the only thing that made it all possible, not forgetting the incredible resources that went into building the Crucible."

"But we were about to become _extinct_," I insisted, hearing the beeping of my heart monitor accelerating again, "_All of us_, and then…then I just happened to stay conscious long enough to stumble blindly over to a console, push a few little buttons and it's _over_. It...it seems too easy." It felt too easy to be told that I was finished, that I could rest, when it had never been true before. If I was alive, then there was more to do. There was _always_ more to do. I tried to swallow the panic that crept up my throat, but it was no use.

"Maybe it _is_ too easy," I said bitterly, "Maybe this is all just what I want to hear."

"Shepard, what are you—"

"How the hell do I even know this is _real_?" I cried, my voice cracking, "I watched you _die_, Anderson, I saw _so much_ happen and none of it was real but it sure as shit _felt_ real, more real than everything else I apparently did, and now you're just…just telling that it's all over? That we _won_? We were _never_ going to win," I snarled, sitting up with great difficulty, "we were fighting because we refused to give up, because we had _no choice,_ but we _all_ _knew_ that it wasn't going to work. We _all knew_ that the only reason we were still fighting was so that everyone else around the galaxy could die thinking there was still hope. Sometimes I believed my own bullshit, sometimes I thought it was _possible_, but I never thought we actually…that we…"

My throat was too tight for me to talk. I let my head fall back and felt a hot tear roll down my cheek as I closed my eyes. I sucked in a deep, shaking breath and let it out. Still, I just felt empty.

"You never let yourself believe we'd actually make it," he said simply, his voice grave. I nodded, my eyes still squeezed tightly shut. Part of me was painfully aware that I was shaking and crying in front of one of the COs I'd ever respected, but most of me just said _fuck it_. The adrenaline from earlier was receding, drawing back like the crashing of a wave, and it left me feeling like I couldn't even lift my head to face him.

"What if…" when I spoke my throat burned and the sound was pathetic, but it didn't matter, "what if I let myself believe it now and…and it's all just still in my head? What if I go to sleep, wake up and find myself back on the Citadel just like last time? This…all of this could just be them controlling me again. Giving me a perfect goddamn fantasy where I won't question anything because I'm somehow alive after…after _everything_." I knew I wasn't making sense. I couldn't even order the thoughts in my own head.

I opened my eyes, saw I was still in the same hospital, but that didn't mean a damn thing. So much could go on around you when you were out cold. The spectrum of my human experience was so wide, so strange, that there was no precedent for any of it. No handbook to talk you through the stages of coming back from the dead, of pushing your own sanity into a box and locking it up tight so you could deal with it all_ later_ when the mission was over, secretly counting on the fact that 'later' would never come. No one else could understand what I'd been through. Just try explaining to another person what it was like to go from a scared little girl to a paranoid teenager to a _terrified_ adult while everyone around you thinks you can handle it all without breaking a sweat. Just fucking _try_.

"I mean...I _saw you bleeding out_," I said again, still not sure it was possible to put into words how I felt, "I watched it all happen, but you're right here, sitting in front of me. And after everything, I'm still alive. And we won. How is all that even _possible_?" I demanded, "Don't you see? It's all…it's all too good to be true, even…even…" there was something in his eyes, something he'd been trying to hide that told me not to celebrate just yet, and my heart went cold.

I felt my body go limp, the breath knocked clean out of my lungs as another memory slammed into me like a shockwave. A memory of that beach where I thought I'd meet my end, stretching my broken body to its limits, trying to reach out as far as I could just so I could slip away while holding his hand…

He hadn't stayed on the Normandy like I'd thought, he'd _followed_ me. Somehow he'd found me, brought me back to Earth, but if _I_ was here then where the fuck was _he_ and why wasn't—

"Where's Kaidan?" I asked suddenly. Anderson didn't answer. Instead, he looked down at his hands woven together and breathed a small, defeated sigh.

Every fear, every nightmare I'd ever had, they all came true in that one shattering moment. My heart shot through the bottom of my chest and pounded so hard that every inch of my skin was straining at the edges with…with _everything._ The beeping of the monitors gave voice to my panic, my adrenaline, the sudden barrage of the worst possible thoughts I'd ever had being forced down my throat and filling me up like poison. I knew from his face that it wasn't good news, I _knew_ and yet still I hoped, prayed, _please no, please don't tell me he's gone, _anything_ but that, please let this be a dream, please, _please!

"They found Major Alenko on a liferaft, not far from where they found you," he replied, my mind barely registering the words he was saying, "And…I'm sorry to say the outlook isn't good."

"Is…is he alive?" I asked, barely recognising that broken, girlish voice as my own.

He took far too long to answer, and every fraction of a second only made me feel sicker with fear, "His heart's beating," Anderson said carefully, "and he's just about able to breathe on his own, but he's unconscious, and with the equipment here there's no way to tell what the true damage is."

"What…what do you…?"

"The Reapers targeted hospitals, destroyed a lot of specialist equipment, and what's left has been moved to emergency units. Alenko's stable and in a coma, low priority, so they brought him here while the other facilities deal with the backlog of cases from the war. From what I've been told, there's brain activity but that could mean anything, and the prognosis for now is…wait and see. He was badly injured to start with, got beat up even worse in the shuttle crash. Lost a lot of blood. And…something happened to his biotic amp. They're not sure how, but they think he was using a barrier to shield your re-entry into the atmosphere and it was heavily overloaded. Parts of it were _melted_. It's very possible that irreparable damage was done to his brain stem, and...even if he _does_ regain consciousness there's a chance he'll be paralysed. I'm…so sorry, Shepard. I thought….I thought I should be the one to tell you."

It felt like I was drowning, like something was pulling me down by my feet and dragging me under. He was watching my face, trying to gauge my reaction, and it was like the characters in a vid had come to life and were suddenly asking my opinions on things I just _couldn't_ deal with. It didn't feel real. It couldn't be real. Kaidan couldn't…_he couldn't be…_

"When will he wake up?" I asked, knowing it was a stupid question, but the answer was the only thing I cared about. My one good hand gripped the side of my bed, my arm shaking with tension.

"It's more a question of _if_ he wakes up," Anderson said gravely, "And…I'm sorry to say that, from what I've been told, if he _does_ wake up it'll be some kind of miracle."

oOoOoOo

I looked down at the stump where my hand used to be, still not used to the feel of the thing. I'd be getting a top of the line prosthetic as soon as they could get one, though, so I wouldn't have to deal with its loss for long. I'd been cheerfully told by a doctor that the fact that the rest of my arm was already metal would make the procedure much easier than usual. In the meantime, they were encouraging me to walk around, make use of my torn and frayed muscles after so long of lying in bed. It was hard. I'd had my share of physiotherapy in my time, but there was only one or two actual physios _here_, so it was mostly down to me. This whole damn place was strange. Equipment had been rigged together, whole sections of the facility repurposed like some post-apocalyptic field hospital, but stranger still was how everything around it was so, so _beautiful_.

Sitting on a bench outside, I silently looked out over the sea. It was so calm. So warm and bright as the setting sun cast shadows over waves. You'd never believe that the entire planet had been brought to its knees by a war just a few weeks ago. You'd never believe that somewhere on the surface fires were still waiting to be put out. I could barely believe it, and I'd had over fourty-eight hours to adjust to this new, alien reality.

At least comms were back online. That had been the first priority after the Reapers had gone down. Those in charge needed to survey the damage, to get the word out that the galaxy was a safe place once again, but it had been difficult. They told me the blast from the Crucible had taken out more than just the Reapers themselves – it had wiped their influence clean from the galaxy. Aside from the massive death tolls and planets still in ruins and the inactive Reapers being 'processed' - which just meant firing them directly into the nearest sun – it was almost like they'd never been here at all. Like their coding had been purged. At least, that was the explanation I'd been given in my second, more thorough debriefing earlier today, once the sedatives had actually left my system and I'd got my head screwed on the right way again.

That was why the shuttle had crashed – EDI's upgrades were based on Reaper tech, and the blast had taken them all out which fucked up the shuttle's controls. EDI _herself_ was based on Reaper tech too. When the red light hit the Normandy, the ship had spun out of control, crashed nearby and…and I heard that Joker had been the one to limp from the pilot's chair to where EDI's body lay, deactivated. It had been instantaneous, and no one knew if there was any chance she'd come back, if she was still in there somewhere or if it had wiped her clean too. The Normandy's crew had only just been recovered two weeks ago. The ship had been left where it had crashed, all but useless without extensive repairs. The second Normandy to be abandoned by a crew that loved her. Joker was in a different facility, supposedly to treat the leg that had been broken by the crash, but I knew it was more likely he just needed a break from it all. Some time to grieve for what he'd lost. I imagined he felt much like I did.

Something similar had happened with the Geth. After the blast from the Crucible, they were just as they'd been before. Primitive machines that were no more 'alive' than a toaster. Tali was with the Quarians, who were still deciding what to do with the 'species' that had been their slaves, then enemies, then allies. Still trying to figure out to handle things now that the boundaries had shifted so much. I was just glad it wasn't my problem anymore. I was glad no one was asking me to be diplomatic.

I breathed in the salted air, a warm breeze kissing my face, and listened to the sound of the waves.

The casualty list I'd been handed was far, far too long, and there were too many names on it I knew. Grunt was dead – went out in a blaze of glory just as he'd always wanted, or so Wrex had told me. Jack had taken a hell of a beating saving one of her students, and had only just been released from hospital after threatening to tear a hole in the wall. Over half of Hammer had been wiped out, crewmembers from the Normandy included, but thankfully no one from my actual squad was filling a grave just yet. Garrus had been hit bad during the firefight on Earth, but he was with the turians on one of their grounded ships on Earth, commanding from a wheelchair while he recovered. Liara was desperately trying to assist the asari with getting some kind of government back up and running. No one could tell me what had happened to Javik, though by all reports he was alive. I wondered if, at the end of his 50,000 year long crusade, he felt as alone as I did now. James was in this very facility, and he was almost back on his feet. He'd been stranded for a while with the rest of the Normandy's crew, but I hadn't seen any of them just yet. I wasn't sure I wanted to. So many had died, and all of it felt pointless. At the end of this war we hadn't conquered a new world or won anything real – just our freedom, an abstract, fragile thing that was hard to prove and even harder to defend. At the end of it all, we were just back where we started, but with everyone mourning their losses.

I was no exception.

I shoved my working hand into the pocket of my hospital robe and pulled out the collection of chains. Dangling from my stiff, numb fingers were the two sets of dogtags they'd found on my body, one around my neck and one tied tight around my ruined arm to prevent further bloodloss. Kaidan's tags and mine. He'd saved my life, in more ways than one. Hackett had been in contact and managed to fill in a few blanks. He told me how Alenko had refused to take no for an answer, how he'd ignored all protocol and launched a suicide mission to save my life. He told me he'd known at the time that it was the only way, but that ordering anyone to actually _do _it would be like throwing them into a blender. It was a miracle Kaidan had made it through. It was a miracle that he'd found me, that we'd made it to the shuttle, that the shuttle had made it to Earth, it was a _damn miracle_ I was still alive. Maybe he and I had run out of miracles. Maybe the galaxy had no more of them left to give, no matter how hard I hoped and prayed.

The bright light of the sun reflected harshly off of his name stamped onto his tags. My throat felt tight, my lips dry and cracked.

I'd been told where Kaidan was. I knew the room number, the directions, all of it, but I hadn't gone to see him yet. Instead I was sitting here, alone with my thoughts, trying to justify the fact that I was moping around when I was still lucky enough to be alive. I didn't feel lucky, though. I felt like I was being punished – forced to experience all the hell that life had to offer without ever getting closure. I felt like a ghost, haunting this place and its halls with no intention of ever moving on, because I knew that if I saw him, if I saw for myself that he was at death's door and there was nothing I could do, it would all feel real. And I didn't know how to deal with 'real'. Just seeing his dogtags had been real enough. I'd been sitting here for what felt like hours, just taking them out, looking at his name, and putting them back in my pocket.

I'd got up this morning telling myself that I'd go see him. I told myself I'd go, I'd deal with it just as I dealt with everything else, and I'd get my head straight. But then my battered body had got so tired just by moving through the facility, I'd sat down by the ocean to take a break, and now here I was.

My phantom hand _hurt_. It was like I'd been clenching it tight for days, unable to ever release the tension wound up inside. I didn't even know if I _wanted_ them to replace it. I didn't know if I wanted to ever pick up a gun again. I didn't know anything.

Every moment, I kept expecting to wake up, but it never happened. None of it felt real, even now, even days later. I looked up to the wing of the hospital where Kaidan slept, and I decided maybe it was time to _make_ it real.

I picked up my crutch, eased myself up until I was standing, and limped over to the door inside. Trying to run on my injured leg had been a bad idea, even if I _had_ been running from that insane hallucination that had gripped my mind like a vice. A mix of severe trauma and the medication that had been keeping me unconscious, they said. A waking dream. A nightmare. I'd punched a nurse and split her cheek open when she'd tried to calm me down. If I saw her, I'd apologise, but I wouldn't blame her if she wanted to keep her distance.

I told myself I wasn't taking the long way to his room on purpose. It was just easier on my leg to avoid climbing stairs. It wasn't because I was dreading the sight of him. It wasn't because I wanted to keep the idea of him slowly drifting away locked in my imagination and not right in front of me. When I found his door, I stood outside and wondered why it was taking me so long to work up the courage to open it. I glanced down the empty hallway, and thought that if this had been anywhere else, I'd have been stopped by nurses by now or someone else concerned that I was a patient on the loose who could cause a lot of damage if I switched again, but this place was so understaffed that no one bothered me. It also meant that no one had really been to see _him_, and that wasn't fair. Not after all he'd done.

He deserved more than my fear and childish self-loathing. I swallowed, opened the door, and stepped through.

I thought seeing him would change something inside me, but all it did was hurt more. He lay there, eyes closed, wires and tubes running into his skin, a red line around his mouth and nose where he'd recently had a breather mask. The veins around the back of his neck were still dark. They told me they'd removed his biotic implant completely to give his body the chance to fix itself even though without the right equipment they couldn't say how likely that was to happen. I hated the idea of him waking up to find his biotics disabled, but not as much as the thought of him never waking up _at all_. Otherwise, he looked…almost normal. He looked like he was sleeping peacefully, not battling for his life.

The only problem was the fact that he wasn't waking up. And that it was _all my fault_.

I shut the door and fell into the chair. It was broken and creaked loudly, but anything was better than standing when my legs felt so weak. I watched the rise and fall of his chest. I watched his eyes remain perfectly still, and I tried to link up the fractured fragments of memory I had left with what was happening now. We'd been in this position before – him in hospital, me feeling like shit about it – and he'd come through, but we both knew this was different. And…and part of me knew that he hadn't recovered from the time before. Not completely. His amp had been more than 'rattled' by Dr Eva's crushing blows, and I'd seen it in the spikes of his biotics, the agonising migraines, all the warning signs that I'd ignored because it was so much easier than facing up to the truth. Maybe that was why his amp had blown when he'd tried to save me. Maybe him being here was more _my fault_ than I wanted to admit.

He'd come for me. Against all odds, against all advice, he'd come to find me. And he'd brought me home, safe and sound, _mission accomplished_. I would have died on the Citadel, but instead I'd been found half-dead washed up on a beach somewhere, life leaking from my broken body before I was found and brought to a hospital. They'd found him on a raft not too far away, floating out to sea but still breathing. From what they could tell, we'd escaped from the shuttle at the bottom of the sea but we'd got separated by the waves. They credited him with saving my life. But he'd given up his own for the privilege.

I grabbed onto the side of the bed, my knuckles turning white.

This was wrong. It was all wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. _I_ was supposed to die, not _him_. I was supposed to be the sacrifice, he was supposed to live on, make the most of the world left behind, not jump right in after me…

'_I can't lose you again,' _he'd said, sincerity burning in his eyes as we stood on the brink of our own destruction.

When I tried to breathe in, I choked on a dry sob that crumpled my face with misery.

Oh god, he'd meant it. The fact that he really, truly loved me crashed over me as if for the first time. I'd thought that he must have been exaggerating, using words he didn't understand, but he'd meant _every damn word_. He cared for me in the same stupid, reckless, all-consuming way that I did. And for all that, he was in a hospital, half-dead. Again. But this time he wasn't waking up, and no one could tell me a damn thing. And I…I didn't know what to do with myself. I wanted someone to tell me there was another mission, some artefact I had to retrieve from the middle of an impenetrable fortress that would make him well again. But there was nothing. And all I could do was wait, but the waiting was _hell_.

I picked up his hand, felt the coldness of his skin, and I pressed my lips against his palm. The heart monitors told me he was still alive, but he was weak, and he wasn't getting better. He shouldn't have tried to save me. He shouldn't have followed me.

_You promised_, I thought furiously, _you promised that you wouldn't leave me, you wouldn't hurt me_. I felt a tear spill from the corner of my eye and run down my cheek, but to swat it away I'd have to let go of his hand, and nothing would make me do that, not again, not _ever_.

_You promised you wouldn't hurt me, but you're hurting me right fucking now, Kaidan, and it doesn't help to know that if you could talk the first thing you'd do would be to apologise._

_I told you, against all odds, that I'd be waiting somewhere. You said you'd show up, even if it took you a while to join me, you said you'd show up, wherever I was. You promised. I kept my end of the deal. I'm waiting for you. But I don't know how much longer I can wait without knowing if you'll ever get here._

"You said we'd get through this together," I whispered, the sound of my own voice surprising me, "You said it would all be okay, because it _had_ to be. Well you're a fucking _liar_, Alenko. You're a liar and I..." my words were cut short by my throat contracting together in a sob. I pressed his limp hand to my face, trying not to notice how it was so much colder than I remembered, how his skin was dry and hard, how he _wasn't moving_.

"And I love you. Please wake up. Please just wake up. I don't care that the Reapers are gone, I don't care about any of it, because I don't know if I can live in this world unless you're here too. I love you. I love you and I…I need you, and…"

I felt the weight of our dogtags in my pocket. I'd meant to give his tags back, give him the dignity of being a soldier, but now I didn't want to. It'd feel too much like I was lighting his funeral pyre. And I couldn't let him go, not while there was still a chance.

"You can't leave me here," I pleaded with his unmoving body, as though he had any choice in the matter, "You can't leave me here alone. I can't handle it. You _know_ I can't."

I lay my head down on the mattress, cradling his hand in mine as though I could somehow push my life force through my skin and give it all to him instead.

"Please…" I whimpered, "just…don't leave me…."

oOoOoOo

After three days, a box was brought to my room that had been delivered specially from Alliance Command. I hadn't known what to expect, but when I opened the lid and realised what it was, it was like a slap in the face. They'd sent me the things that had been found in my cabin on the Normandy, the ship that was still being picked over by a salvage team. There was talk of rebuilding her, as a symbol if nothing else, but I hardly had it in me to care.

These things, my 'personal effects', they made me feel like my corpse had been looted. As though everyone was happily moving on with things, following procedure just as they were supposed to, and I didn't understand how it was possible. I didn't understand how _anyone_ could pick up the pieces and move on after all that had happened.

I pulled out pieces of clothing, a few weapon mods, the odd piece of jewellery, datapads, and a bottle of whiskey that was short two glasses. Seeing that was bad enough. Remembering the promise I'd made to share the rest of it with him was worse. And then, finally, my eyes fell on that smooth, black box he'd given me back when I'd been able to pretend things were all okay. If only for a night, if only because he'd been there, I'd been able to pretend.

I opened the box, slipped my fingers beneath the dark chain, and looked at the gemstone that hung from it, heavy and rich with beauty. It made me feel sick and sad to look at. He'd given it to me when I'd been at my most carefree, as though to make sure I never forgot that somewhere out there were a thousand evenings to be had that were _just like_ that perfect time we'd spent together. It had been a moment in time free from worry and pain, where I'd actually let myself believe one day I'd wear that necklace, maybe with a dress, maybe even with killer heels, and we'd go out and celebrate like normal people.

It was the promise of a future that hadn't come true. A future I'd never honestly _believed_ would be possible, but I'd still really, _really _hoped...

I'd been so stupid. I knew now that the kind of self-deception I'd managed to pull off had been necessary, the locking-away of one kind of pain just so you could deal with another more urgent matter, but it still hurt to find out it was a lie after all. I didn't know _how_ I'd ever been stupid enough to think our future was something real. I'd thought I was smarter than that. It was amazing how dumb being in love could make you act.

Picking up the bottle, my thumb ran over the label and I remembered _so well_ the look in his eyes, the clink of the glasses, the hard lines of his back as he stood up, turned and walked over. There was a lot left in the bottle. I'd...I'd have to finish it with him sometime, I thought, forcing myself to think positively, just as I had back then. Maybe I'd bring it when he woke up. He'd like that. He'd...he'd like that. My throat was burning. I put the bottle down.

My datapad had survived too. The one I'd written all those messages in, just in case I didn't come back. Knowing it was there waiting to be found had made slipping away easier. It made leaving everyone behind easier. But no one had read it. And now I was wiping its memory to make sure no one ever _would_ read it. They wouldn't have to – I was alive and I could speak for myself. I was alive, and so many people were dead. How was that fair? It wasn't like I had anything more to offer the galaxy, anyway. I'd always justified my incredible gift for staying alive by finding some new battle to fight, some great challenge that no one but me could face, but now there was nothing. And...and I hated – I _hated_ – to admit it, but without Kaidan here to make me see the bright side, there wasn't enough joy left in this world to justify me slogging through life, not after all I'd been through. It didn't seem fair. There were so many other people I'd have given my life to if I could. So many people deserved it more. _He_ deserved it more. At least he'd know what to do with it, instead of wasting his days wallowing in regret.

Maybe he should have just left me. It would have been the right way for this to end. It would have been fitting. He could have gone on living his life and bringing happiness to so many other people, but instead he was trapped in his own lifeless body and I was just…I was just _here_. Existing without living.

I picked up the gemstone and shoved it into my pocket along with the dogtags I'd kept since I'd found them. Hobbling back to Kaidan's room, I thought the weight of it in my robe would help to ground me, to remind me of a time when I'd been happy, but instead it made me feel more alone and lost than ever before.

Anderson had gone shortly after I'd been well enough to report to Hackett. He'd given me strict instructions to rest, to take it easy and get my head straight. He said he'd try to come by again if he could, but I told him not to bother – he had more important things to focus on than one broken soldier. I thought he must have known _something_ was wrong, but even if I wanted to tell him what it was, I didn't know how to put it into words without feeling pathetic, and so the cycle of self-flagellation and shame began again.

I'd seen James once, briefly, and he'd given me a fierce hug that was gentle but still tight enough to hurt my healing body. It was a good pain, though. There was something _real_ about it, like it was the only possible way for him to express how he felt to see me alive. He was getting better every day. It wouldn't be long before he'd be able to leave, and I could tell he was happy about it. From him I learned what had happened after the evacuation, how the last thing he remembered was the Citadel arms opening, and how he passed out _knowing_ that he had the best damn CO that'd ever lived. He'd told me, clumsily, that he was sorry about 'the Major'. I told him I was too, and we'd left it at that.

I had vid calls from some others – Liara, Tali, even Wrex had all taken the time to check on me. Garrus promised an actual visit when he could get back on his feet. Liara had asked me if I was getting the 'treatment' I needed, and I knew she didn't mean my physical injuries. I'd told her I was fine, and we both knew it was a lie. I couldn't explain how I felt, and when I tried it just felt stupid. I looked at my body, and all I felt was resentment that I'd survived when Kaidan was slipping away moment by moment. I didn't see why I'd _want_ to feel better – how could that even be possible unless the facts themselves changed? Day by day, I felt myself slipping further into this dark pit of apathy, and I wasn't sure if I could drag myself out for long enough to ask for help.

The only person I told this to was the only person I'd _ever _been able to talk to, and he couldn't respond. I sat at his bedside and talked about nothing until my throat hurt and my eyes were heavy. I thought that if there was a chance, even the _smallest_ chance that I could help him wake up, I had to take it. And if not, if I was just throwing my words into an empty vessel, then…then that was an idea I couldn't deal with yet. Maybe I'd never be able to deal with it, but I didn't care, because skulking around this place like a ghost felt far more logical than even _thinking_ about moving on.

I sat at Kaidan's bedside, day after day, and waited for him to open his eyes and respond. I wondered how long it would take for me to give up the hope that he'd ever find his way back to me.

oOoOoOo

Just over a week since I'd woken up I'd found that I was starting to get used to holding my left arm close to my chest with the stump inside my robe, doing everything with only one arm so it took twice as long, I'd even got used to the dull, cramping pain I felt at the end of my bandaged wrist, the ghost of something lost. And then I'd been told my prosthetic had arrived, and I'd watched – against their advice – as my arm was numbed with local anaesthetic and my new robotic hand had been grafted on. I was told it was uniquely strange for the doctors to have to use soldering tools as well as surgical, but at least the metal of my synthetic bones and the stretch of my lab-grown skin meant the procedure was much, much simpler than usual. More like tuning up an old machine than fixing a living, breathing body.

I flexed it again, feeling the slight tingle in my wrist where the nerves were remembering how to work. It wasn't as good as my _old_ fake hand – the skin didn't feel the same, and the colour was slightly off, but it was better than nothing, and it sure as hell beat the kind of price Cerberus demanded for help. Hour by hour, I was starting to like how the tattooed birds flying across my forearm were burned away towards my wrist. It looked like they were flying into the sun, leaving the world in style just like I almost had.

They'd had to remove some of my implants while I'd been unconscious, replace a few malfunctioning bits of super-advanced cybernetics that had been wiped out by the Crucible's blast. Turned out I really _had _been part-Reaper, just as that fucking kid had warned me. They said it wasn't anything vital, but they also wouldn't let me start exercising yet. No running or lifting or stretching or _anything_. I wouldn't know how bad the damage was until I got the chance to be my old self again, and there was no telling how long that would take.

A month since the Reaper War had officially ended, and all around me people were picking up the pieces and moving on. People were recovering, but then it was much easier when you had something to recover _for_. They all had home planets to help, governments to re-establish, new challenges to overcome, but not me. I'd done my part, and when I tried to find a new challenge I realised the only one left was just to _live_ in this world I'd created. It was hard. Harder than it should have been. And winning _still_ didn't feel like a victory.

Kaidan was still unconscious. No change. No more information. Just more people telling me to 'wait and see'. I'd tried everything – offering money, expertise, calling in contacts, but none of it would help. This wasn't something I could bludgeon my way through. This wasn't something Commander Shepard could fix.

And so I remained in the rehab facility, stuck between the worlds of war and peace, unable to live in either. Nothing seemed to matter to me anymore. Nothing had any value, not even my own recovery. Instead, I found that after the climax of the war, after I'd gone further and done more than _anyone _in the history of the _galaxy_, there was nothing on the other side. There was no cosmic reward waiting for me to claim. If being alive was supposed to be a reward in _itself_, then I didn't want it. Not if it hurt this much.

I floated from place to place, occasionally being called back down to the land of the living so I could visit James or talk with the higher-ups, give my perspective on some new piece of information, but that was the only time I spent outside of my own head. The rest of it was spent brooding by myself, having my muscles twisted and reshaped by a physiotherapist, or with Kaidan. I tried to visit him most days, though it had hurt at first. Now, it didn't hurt. Not the sharp, suffocating pain I'd felt upon first seeing him like that, anyway. Instead it felt…like something inevitable. Like I couldn't expect things to have gone any different.

Maybe it still hurt just as much, but I'd just got used to it. I didn't know why that thought made me feel so sad and so empty.

I'd asked a nurse I liked if she could cut my hair, as some of it had been burned off and what was left was singed and scraggly. She came to my room after her rounds with a pair of medical scissors and did what I couldn't with my stiff, aching hands. I watched my ruined locks fall to the floor, and the sight somehow pierced through the layer of total apathy that covered me like a blanket and made me feel…cleansed. It felt like progress. Now, my hair was close-cropped and velvety, making the scars on my face all the more prominent when I stared at myself in the mirror afterwards. There were new scars all over my body. Funnily enough, minimising cosmetic impact hadn't been too high on the priority list at the field hospital I'd been evacuated to before being flown here. The way I looked now was different, but unsurprising. Unmoving.

When I slept, a cocktail of pills knocked back to ease me through, I dreamt and the battle came back to me in bright, blinding flashes of agony. The time before then, the feel of Kaidan's lips on mine, the sound of his voice, it was like looking back on another lifetime. The memory of him as he had been – loving, warm, quietly confident, 'good' in a way that _no one_ was 'good' – was slowly being eclipsed by the sight of him lying in a hospital bed, days going by with no change, no progress.

Still, that didn't stop me from going to see him again. I couldn't help myself – it was like he was the only other person alive who would understand how I felt. Even now, with everything inside me feeling stale and dead, he would understand because he was in a goddamn _coma_ and probably felt much the same. I told myself it was a good idea. It was helping me to come to term with the facts, day by day, and besides, wasn't talking to coma patients supposed to be good for them? Wasn't talking through every trauma that entered my mind from the war I'd just scraped through supposed to be good for _me_? It made sense that I should see him as much as I could, if only to unload how I was feeling. Besides, in a place like this 'visiting hours' didn't really count for shit.

Now, with dark thoughts dragging me down, I found my legs taking me there without me even noticing. I didn't need the crutches anymore, but moving too quickly was still difficult, so I took my time. I hobbled to his room, making a conscious effort to flex every muscle I could with each step, just to make sure they were all getting their workout. When I opened the door I expected to find things just as I'd left them – nothing ever changed around here – but all at once the woman by his bed looked up, her eyes locked with mine, and I froze in my tracks.

Her mouth fell open, and something about her was familiar, comforting, even though I was sure I had no idea who she was. Her thick, black hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, her eyes were the kind of soft, deep brown that broadcasted to the world what she was feeling, and right now she was stunned. I watched her look from my short hair to my bright scars to my loose, plain hospital clothes, before her eyes met mine again, judgement-free and curious. Unlike her smooth face, her hand betrayed her age, and it was covering Kaidan's tenderly.

"Yes?" she asked innocently, as though I were some lunatic wandering the halls who'd got lost. I _felt_ lost.

I wanted to slip into my 'official' voice, ask her who she was, what she was doing here, and how the hell she knew Kaidan, but all at once she started in surprise, comprehension lighting up her expression.

"Wait," she said quickly, raising her hand as though to stop me from troubling myself with a reply, "you…you're Commander Shepard, aren't you?"

Goddamn vids. Even here, even out of my armour, it seemed I couldn't go unnoticed. I straightened my back, tried to get some of that familiar power back in my stance to make up for my dishevelled appearance.

"Yeah," I replied, clearing my throat and feeling suddenly self-conscious, "that's me."

"They told me you were here too, along with some others from the Normandy, but it's been…hard getting any real information. Better now that the comm channels are mostly back online." Her words tumbled out as though each was desperate to explain the last, as though she could happily talk for _hours_ just to make sure she was understood. "I only found out Kaidan had been stationed on the Normandy again a week ago when they recovered the crew, and I just heard about his condition this morning when I got here, but no one seems to know _anything_ else. I mean…I'm glad he's _alive_, but this…it wasn't what I was expecting."

She paused, and I jumped in, "I…I'm sorry,_ who_ are you?"

"Oh! Sorry, it's just you're so famous, I've seen your picture so many times, heard so many stories, it's easy to forget that—" she cut herself off, gave me an embarrassed little smile, and extended her hand. "Lauren Alenko. I'm Kaidan's mother."

His mother. She didn't look a day over fifty, she was beautiful, she was _his mother_, and she was here. I had no idea what to say to that. All at once I felt like an imposter, a fake, a woman with more fame than substance suddenly confronted with reality. I looked at her, the woman that had raised the man that meant _everything_ to me, and I was speechless. What could I _possibly_ say to her? She didn't know me, we'd never met, would she even care that I was in love with her dying son? Did she even know who I was beyond the fact that I'd worked with him? How much had he _told_ her? We'd barely discussed family when we were together – it'd hurt too much for him to think about them back on Earth, and I'd had so little to say. Now I felt like I was at some fancy dinner staring at the forks with no idea of which one to use, no idea about how all this _worked_.

I looked down at her offered hand, walked over, and shook it. The skin hard and worn, no doubt toughened from what she'd been through fleeing the Reapers.

"Nice to meet you," I said neutrally, warily, "I…didn't realise you'd be visiting." I was so, so glad I'd stopped myself at the last second from saying '_I figured you were probably dead_'.

"I only found out he was here a few days ago," she said quickly, her accent so familiar but her voice lighter, softer, "I used the codes he sent me before Vancouver was hit to find out what I could. I mean they'd changed them, of course, but I still got through to the channel's operator and explained everything. She knew a few bits of information, but not much, so she put me on to someone _else _and then…" she cleared her throat, likely to stop the nervous unloading of information, "When I got the news I scraped together what I could for transport, and now…well," she looked back down to her son, her face looking suddenly tired, lines appearing that showed she was older than I'd thought, "They tell me it doesn't look too good, but no one seems to know any more than that. And I'm not military anymore, so no one will tell me what happened. Do…do you know what happened?"

Her eyes were wide when she looked up at me, _trusting_ like she had no reason at all not to believe everything I said. It was unsettling. Worse, it was _familiar_. For the first time since I walked in, I looked at the face of the man I'd come to see, and found it was just as unresponsive as ever. He may as well have been a statue. The shallow rise and fall of his chest and the ever-present beeping of that _fucking_ heart monitor was the only indication he was still alive.

"What happened to…to Alenko?" I clarified, switching at the last second to his surname to try and keep some distance. She nodded enthusiastically, as though hearing the truth might change the facts.

"He…uh…" in my head, I drafted a lie that I knew she'd fall for, something about Kaidan saving hundreds of lives in a firefight, sacrificing himself so innocent people could run, but…it would still be a lie. I looked at her, and I decided that the least she deserved was the truth. "He came to find me," I said at last, watching her brows twitch together in confusion, "our mission was to activate a weapon to destroy the Reapers, but we got separated. I managed to get through and finish the job, but only…only because of him. It's…hard to explain. And then the weapon fired, wiped out the Reapers, but it screwed up a lot of other stuff too and I got trapped above Earth. Alenko came to find me. He pulled me out. He…saved _everyone_. Me included. It's complicated, and I can't get into a lot of it, but you should just know that...he's the only reason _any_ of it worked." It was true. Without him I'd have given up long ago. She must have realised that I was trying to be honest, and her eyes creased sympathetically.

"He…always wanted to make a difference," she said, her voice strained, "always wanted to help people." I tried to ignore the fact that she was speaking in past tense. I tried not to think about what that might mean. I told myself it was just because she hadn't heard from him in so long. In those conditions, maybe I'd assume he was dead too.

I remembered something Kaidan had said, about how his mom hated only hearing about what he was up to when he was on the

"You know he's a SPECTRE now, right?" I said suddenly, more to fill the heavy silence than anything else.

"A SPECTRE?" she started in surprise, her full, arched eyebrows shooting up, "A _Council _SPECTRE? I...no. I didn't know that. I mean…he'd only recently got the promotion to Alliance Major, and I thought _that _was incredible, but…When did it happen?"

"A few weeks into the war," I shrugged, "Comms to Earth were already cut off by then, but they showed the ceremony on ANN at the time, it'll be on the extranet when it's back up, you can probably watch it there." Why the _hell_ was I still talking?

"I…I'll do that," she replied uncertainly, her hand still tight around his, her skin just a few shades darker, "Some of the soldiers I treated that came from off-planet told me they saw him on the news, that's how I found out he'd been assigned to the Normandy again, but they never mentioned he was a SPECTRE. His dad would've had something to say about that, I'm sure…" she smiled down at her son, but it was strained, as though she was holding back a grimace of pain. I wanted to ask her what she meant by 'treated', maybe get a little background to make this whole interaction just a little easier, but a part of me with a little more humanity decided to focus on the obvious thing.

"I'm sorry about your husband," I said simply, "Kaidan found out just after he joined the crew. It was…rough."

Lauren gave me another sad smile, her eyes wrinkling not with happiness but with appreciation for the simple fact that I'd tried to say something nice. Her expressions were so like his it was uncanny. She just looked so..._sincere_.

"Thank you. When he left I knew there wasn't much of a chance that he'd come back, but…having it confirmed still hurt. I wish I could say I was glad he went down fighting, just as he'd want, but…if this war has taught me anything, it's that there are no good ways to die. At least he had a long, full life." She looked down to Kaidan, her voice going quiet, "He was so, so proud of his son. Wouldn't stop bragging about having a hero in the family after that business with the rogue SPECTRE. But _Kaidan_…I wanted him to have a life too, you know? After his biotics manifested and the incident at BAAT…I thought there was no _way_ he'd ever have a normal life, but he seemed so happy once he joined the Alliance. And after he was assigned to the Normandy he became so successful. I suppose he had you to thank for that…"

She didn't look up at me. I wondered if I should sit down, if I should say anything, but I felt stiff and awkward, hyper-aware of everything I did. She sighed, her voice cracking a little. "But I don't care about his rank or his medals…I just want him to be happy. That's all I want. He's never stopped being my son," her hand squeezed his affectionately, "My boy. And every time he shipped out, it broke my heart, just a little, because I knew he might never come back." My throat felt tight, constricted, and I couldn't have said a word even if I'd wanted to. She shook her head, as though chasing away the many memories. "…But I shouldn't go on like this, I'm sorry, you probably don't want to hear…'

"No," I forced the words out, trying to sound encouraging, "It's…nice. To hear you talk about him, I mean." I felt the words brewing in my chest, the admission that I was hopelessly in love with him and that it was for some sadistic reason _reassuring_ to know someone else was taking this just as hard as I was, but they got stuck. "Everyone liked him, you know," I said quickly, "On the Normandy. Even before the war, on the first Normandy, he was always…" he always knew how to make me feel like I was worth so much more than I thought. He was always there with a kind word, a funny observation, a soft touch, anything to take my mind off things. He always knew just what to say, just what to do. He always made my heart beat just a little faster, just by walking in the room. "…a good influence," I said instead, wondering why I was still standing up awkwardly, as though I was about to bolt at any second.

She smiled at that, her eyes so warm and kind that I had an impulse to turn around and check she wasn't actually looking at someone _else_.

"You've been visiting him, then?" she asked, and if there was a subtext, some hint that she knew the truth, I couldn't tell.

I nodded, giving a little shrug to pretend that it wasn't a big deal, "Yeah, when I can. Not much to do around here but heal, you know?" I thrust my hands into my pockets and felt the cold metal of his dogtags against my synthetic skin. They were as good an excuse as any. Reluctantly, I drew them out and held them in front of me, "I…also wanted to give these back. They got put with my stuff by accident, and…uh…"

She took them from me gently, her brows drawing together in thought as she examined the name stamped on the surface. Her face pursed, and for one horrifying moment I thought she might start to cry, but instead she just nodded, silently and sadly.

"I should go," I mumbled, feeling like a total _fucking _idiot, "leave you to…"

"No," she said at once, her voice strained, "please, I…if you don't mind me being here, I'd appreciate the company." She nodded towards the chair on the other side of his bed. I glanced towards Kaidan and he was just as still and lifeless as ever. I knew it was probably a bad idea, but in her eyes I saw such faith, such _gratitude_, even though I'd already told her it was _my fucking fault _her son was here. She didn't seem to care. And so I took the two steps towards her and eased my stiff body into the chair. What could be the harm? Maybe she'd even make me feel better.

She asked me about how he'd got to the Normandy, how he'd been during the war, if he'd been happy, all sorts of questions that I knew regular mothers were always supposed to ask. I tried to answer without giving anything away, but I was still tired, still exhausted just from moving from one place to the next, and I didn't check my words as carefully as I knew I should have. Still, I managed to hammer it home that Kaidan was just as responsible for saving the galaxy as I was, maybe _more_. I told her that everyone alive now and everyone that would _ever_ live owed him a debt. He didn't much like the spotlight, but then neither did I, and I'd be damned if I was going to stand in it all by myself.

The idea of him standing up _at all_ was a fantasy right now. I just…I just wanted him to wake up. That was all. After everything, if I could have one reward, that would be it. That would be all I'd ask for. That was _all I wanted._

"It doesn't seem fair, you know?" I continued, trying to stay guarded even though my hands were rubbing together anxiously and I couldn't take my eyes off of the patch of bruises around the inside of his elbow where various IVs had been replaced over time. "Off the record, I didn't expect any of us to survive, _especially_ not me, and now that it's all over…it doesn't seem fair that I'm walking and talking and he's just…" I looked up at his face, perfectly still even though I knew he was breathing, and all I heard was the beeping of his heart monitor. Over and over again. A sound that never changed, never gave any indication that there was still a man alive inside that shell. My face, tense and hard, wanted to collapse into tears with the sudden rush of emotion that filled me to the brim. I blamed the painkillers.

Something warm brushed against my fingers, and I turned to see Lauren had reached over her son to rest her hand on mine. I met her eyes, and the look on her face was so tender, so heartfelt, that for some reason I was immediately on my guard. She didn't care that her son had almost killed himself saving my life. She didn't care that it was my fault. It was like she could see straight past my vague words and rambling answers and get right to my core, see something in me that was worth saving. Just like him, she was too damn easy to talk to. Too comforting, too good at teasing out the answers, and I couldn't even be _angry_ at her because she wasn't trying to interrogate me, it wasn't vindictive, she was just…just _nice. _She smiled, and in that instant I knew that despite how careful I'd been, I'd given myself away.

"Whatever happens," she said, "I want you to know that I'm glad he was on the Normandy, with _you_. I'm glad he had someone like you."

I opened my mouth to respond, maybe to say _thanks for the vote of confidence,_ or _I'm glad he was with us too_, but at her words something clenched my throat shut, strangling my voice, prickles rushing up from my chest to bite at my skin, and it was like my body was giving me a one-minute warning to a total fucking meltdown.

"Thanks," I said quietly, forcing my voice to sound calm and level even as I racked my brains for an exit strategy, "I should…uh…I should get going." I stood up, taking my hand back and refusing to look at her wide, trusting eyes or Kaidan's lifeless body.

"Commander—"

"I gotta get to physio," I said by way of explanation, holding up my left hand to show off the way my tattoo burned out close to the wrist, the barrier between the new prosthetics and the old, "hand got blown off." _Stop talking and leave, you fucking idiot, just leave_. "See you 'round."

I turned and left without a second glance, walking as briskly as I could away from his room and towards my own even though my muscles were still weak and feeble and my throat was burning with pain and my eyes felt full and heavy and something in my chest was just—

Without thinking I reached out, pushed open the door to a storage closet, ducked inside, and clasped my hands over my mouth to stifle the thick, gasping sobs that racked through my body as soon as I was out of sight. I backed against a wall, slid down to the floor, and curled up against a shelving unit as hot, heavy tears spilled from my eyes and burned their way down my cheeks. From my mouth came silent screams, ragged breaths burning against my hands, and I could feel my shoulders shaking, my body convulsing with the anger and sadness and all-consuming _pain_ that had suddenly slammed into me like a full biotic kick in the teeth.

All I could think of, over and over again, were her words. _I'm glad he had someone like you_. Every way I unpacked that sentence, it hurt. It hurt so much more than anyone could ever understand.

He'd had me, and all I'd given him was grief and pain and total dependency and angry words and, somewhere in the distance, a promise that things would all be better after the war. I thought if I survived I'd be a new person, I'd be free of all this anger and turmoil, I'd be able to give something_ back_ for a change instead of just sapping all the strength he had to supplement my own. On the Normandy, '_after the war_' had been a shining light at the edge of the world, a mythical place where all of us had pinned every one of our hopes and dreams and desires. But everyone knew reality never measured up to fantasy. And my reality…it didn't even _feel_ real. Not yet.

And for Kaidan, the war hadn't even ended.

I drew my knees up to my chest and buried my head in the circle of my arms, drawing in deep, gasping breaths to try and calm myself down. It was no use. All I could think of was the past four years, everything I'd been through in that time, all the people I'd met, how they'd changed me, and how right now it felt like I was right back to where I'd started. Fuck that, it was like I was a kid again, hurled into a new world where I had no idea how to deal with any of it. Only…it was worse than that. At least before I'd always found myself thrown into a new fight, but now there was nothing. I was supposed to be recovering, recuperating, rebuilding my life, but I didn't know how. I didn't know how to be at peace. The only time I'd felt at peace was lying next to _him_.

It was pathetic, pinning all my hopes and dreams to a man, forgetting who I was and how to live without him around. But pathetic or not, it was happening.

The nurse that had cut my hair told me it would be normal for me to experience some emotional distress, outbursts, fits of rage or stabs of guilt. Knowing it was normal didn't help. Knowing exactly _why_ my brain and body was scheming together to put me through the PTSD-riddled emotional rollercoaster _from hell_ didn't help. All I knew was that I'd locked myself in a fucking closet so no one would see me break down, and I'd never felt more alone.

I thought of my future, of what I might have to look forward to, and before the Normandy there'd been medals, promotions, exciting new titles like 'SPECTRE' that I might get to put in front of my name if I just proved I was good enough. Then there had just been the mission. One battle after another, never-ending and constant. In moments of peace, with him, I'd been able to imagine a time when we could be together without cares, without interference, just like three years ago in my piece-of-shit apartment when I'd let myself think it could last forever. I hadn't known what that future might look like, and sometimes it scared me, but it was something I wanted nonetheless. Something to keep me going when everything else seemed to fade to grey.

I was in love with him. I'd _always_ been in love with him. I'd had him, he'd had me, for that short time we'd had each other, and now…neither of us had anything.

I was pathetic. He'd probably never wake up, and I still had my life, my body, most of my crew, my titles, medals, _credits_, people that cared about me. I had so much more than most. I told myself I had no reason to be sad, not when other people had suffered so much more.

It didn't help. None of it helped. I pressed my palms to my face, hot and flushed, and I let the tears fall.

oOoOoOo

Days later, and they'd finally let me in the gym area. There was a large observation window on one side, and I knew more than one set of curious eyes were on me as I tried a light jog for the first time since I'd stumbled from my bed like a newborn foal. I'd been given strict instructions on exactly how far I could exert myself, and though I'd planned to fuck the instructions and do what I liked, I found that my muscles were still weak, still aching if I tried to push them too hard, so reluctantly I did what I was told.

Once, while I stared straight ahead on a treadmill, I'd caught sight of Kaidan's mother again through the window. She'd seen me, waved a hand and smiled warmly like we were old friends. After my physio session I'd meant to find out why she was there, but she'd found me first and explained that instead of just sitting by her son's bedside the whole time, she wanted to do some good while she was here, and she was volunteering her skills. She'd trained as a field medic, but after having Kaidan at twenty she retrained as a nurse for centres like these to help soldiers who found themselves stranded between two worlds, limbs missing and covered in scars that were so much more than skin deep. No wonder she'd looked at me as she did, with understanding and empathy taught by years of compassion given to old soldiers who had none left to give in return. No wonder she'd raised a son with her marine husband who was the embodiment of everything a hero should be.

No wonder she was so much better than me at dealing with her pain. She'd seen it a thousand times before.

In a moment of emotional honesty, I thought of telling her about Kaidan and I. I thought about explaining how we'd found each other again against all odds, how I loved him more than I'd ever loved anything, _so much_ more. But I knew I wouldn't say a word. And I didn't. I couldn't - not without him there to make it all sound normal and real and not just like the ramblings of a broken woman's fractured mind. Meeting his mother and finding out she was the most wonderful woman that had ever lived _didn't help_. Selfishly, it made me feel homesick for a world that had never existed. A world where he'd be the one to introduce us, that wistful smile on his face that said he thought I was perfect, no matter what anyone else thought. A world where I could get a taste of what it might be like to one day have a real family. Permanence. Security. I thought of the words he might use to talk about me. '_Girlfriend'_ seemed so pathetically insignificant compared to all that we were to each other. _Had been_.

I looked at her, and I remembered that her husband of thirty-five years had been killed a few months ago, and her only son was lying unconscious in a hospital bed, likely never to open his eyes again. Telling her that _I too_ had a right to share in her grief because I was in love with her son didn't seem like the right thing to do. As if I'd _ever_ known what 'the right thing to do' was.

She told me, before she left for her rounds, that time really was the best healer, and I had to let it work. I didn't know whether she was talking about me or Kaidan, but either way she _meant _it. And then she touched my shoulder, human to human, and left.

Instead of retreating back into myself, as I wanted to do, or sitting and staring at Kaidan's unresponsive body, I did what I knew I was supposed to do and went to find someone who could put my feet squarely back on the ground.

Garrus had swung by a few days ago to say goodbye before leaving with the turians, and it had been…bittersweet. It wasn't the triumphant victory we'd hoped for. Not for _us_. He'd been knocked out cold by the time the Crucible had fired. We'd missed the euphoria, the celebrations, the little things that made winning feel so damn _good_. For us it had been…almost anticlimactic. And so he'd found a new purpose, straight away. He'd got back on his feet, he'd helped to put the turian fleet back together, and now he was leaving with the Primarch to head back to Palaven. It would be a month-long journey with the Mass Relays still down, but they had a planet to rebuild. At least he'd found another purpose.

Within minutes I'd reached my destination, and when I stood in the open doorway and took in the scene, an actual smile tugged at my lips. I cleared my throat, Vega looked back at me with the expression of a naughty but unapologetic schoolboy, and the nurse he'd been murmuring to glanced up in surprise, a blush flooding her round face. She straightened her uniform self-consciously, picked up the file she'd apparently dropped to the floor, and made to walk past me.

"Remember," she said in a voice that sounded a little strained, "_bed rest_."

James grinned, a look that made the nurse flush an even deeper red, and muttered "I hear _that_."

"Making trouble for the nurses again?" I asked when she'd gone.

"Not my fault they can't keep their hands off me," he shrugged, still looking very, very smug, "It's almost like I'm some big _war hero_."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, this is a _genuine_ Reaper War wound," he insisted, gesturing to the scar tissue that cut through his tattoo, just visible above the collar of his shirt, "and if I'm gonna be stuck here much longer then you're damn right I'm milking it for all I can get."

"A Mako hit you," I said, "and you fell over. If anything it's friendly fire. You want a goddamn war wound, try losing your entire hand to a blast from a gun that can take out _cruisers_."

He barked a laugh, stretching his huge shoulders back and looking to the hand in question. "How's it feeling?"

I flexed my fingers, "I think Cerberus's budget was higher than the Alliance's. But I'll get used to it. Long as I can still shoot I don't care what it looks like."

"Yeah, I get that. My leg's still healing but at least I've _got_ legs. Means I can actually make good on that promise and join the N7 programme when it's back up."

I smirked, but there wasn't much humour in my eyes, "Need me to authorise the leave or something?"

"Nah, now we're back on Earth Anderson's technically my CO. And you'll be happy to know he _finally_ got round to relieving me of guard duty, so I'm a free agent. Gotta say, I'll miss looking out for you, Lola. Even if you _did_ make my job a total goddamn nightmare at times."

The silent laugh that made my lips turn up at the corners was genuine, and I knew coming here had been a good idea. "Maybe we'll work together again sooner than you think. There's not much off-planet activity for soldiers like me right now. And the Ns have been asking for years if I'd come back to the academy to put the fear of god into some recruits," I shrugged, "Figure it's something to do until another war breaks out."

"You're going back on duty?" he asked in that dangerous way of his, with a voice that was casual but eyes that were sharp and saw so much more than anyone thought.

"I don't _have_ anything else, James," I smirked, trying to make it sound like a joke, but it was too true to be funny, "It's…it's always been the mission. And now…hell, I don't even have a home any more. My ship's a wreck, half the Council's dead along with half the people I _know_, and…it's not like I can aim any higher than saving the galaxy, is it? Might as well just get back to doing what I do best. Once I'm back in shape, anyway. Make the most of still being alive and all that shit."

"And…it doesn't even _occur_ to you that you've done enough?" he said incredulously, crossing his arms, "You don't want to take some leave? Relax, maybe?"

"What'd you call this?" I spread my arms to show my loose clothes and soft robe, the clean, calming environment and the sound of the ocean breeze, "I haven't touched a gun in _weeks_."

"This ain't _relaxing_, Shepard, you're in a damn hospital. You almost died – _again_ – and I'm pretty sure you haven't had actual shore leave for like _three years_. After what we've all been through no one expects you to just bounce back. What's stopping you from taking some time out?"

"I…" I didn't know what to say, and I hated it, "I can't leave here just yet," I said pathetically, the same thing I'd told myself and others as I wandered through the halls of this place, "They won't let me, I'm still—"

"You're walking and talking, and you're _Commander Shepard_," he insisted, and for a moment I was irritated I'd ever let him get close enough to talk to me like that, but a louder part of me insisted he was right, that I was being a damn pushover, that I'd never let anyone or any_thing _get the better of me like this before, "If you want to leave there ain't a damn thing they can do to stop you. What's the _real_ reason, huh?"

His eyes were piercing, alert, and though I knew trying to lie right now was pointless, I still looked away to think of an excuse. But he was too quick.

"It's the Major, isn't it?"

I'd opened my mouth, intending to say some bullshit about physiotherapy and prosthetic limbs and recommendations from higher-ups, but at the sound of Vega's strangely respectful nickname for Kaidan, the excuse died on my lips.

"He came to find me," I said simply, quietly, "he saved my life. He risked _everything_ to pull me out of there, and now he's in a goddamn coma and I'm fine. I'm _fine_. When I was up there I _knew_ I was gonna die, and five seconds later I wake up and I'm fine but he's not. I got the two of you out of there because I couldn't do my job if I had to think about keeping you safe. And then I found out that it didn't _matter_ that I'd got you guys to safety, because he'll probably never get to wake up."

Vega's brows had lowered seriously, taking in my every word before finding a response, "He knew what he was doing—"

"So did _I!_" I snapped, feeling my prosthetic hand clench into a fist automatically, almost like it was real, "I…it sounds so stupid now, because it's all over, but you _remember_. You know what it was like on the Normandy. There was _only_ the war, _only_ the mission, that was _it_, and I wanted to give this mission _everything_ I had. And…I did. Or at least I thought I did. I thought I was done with all this shit, but now…I'm just…I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to _do_ or feel or…"

"I was there, y'know," he said firmly, "I was only half-conscious at the time but I was in the room when he decided to go, and I'm telling you again: _wild fucking horses_ wouldn't have stopped him from following you. He _loved_ you, Shepard. _Everyone_ knew that. I hope you did too."

Tears prickled up my nose and strained behind my eyes, but I _refused_ to let them out. Not now. "Stop talking about him like he's already dead," I said in a voice that sounded choked up. Vega's face fell at once and he looked unsure, hesitant. And then he stepped towards me, reached out, and wrapped his thick arms around my unresisting body. I felt fragile, like a porcelain doll, but something about the size and smell of him was comforting.

"It's okay, Lola," he murmured, the sincerity in his voice a rare thing indeed, "it's okay. It'll be okay."

I knew I was supposed to take this attempt at comfort at face value, pretend it had any effect on me other than making me just a little fonder of my Lieutenant, but I couldn't. Inside I still felt dead and empty, and the words he said just rang hollow.

"No it won't," I said.

"Yeah," he sighed, catching on to my mood, "I know. I know you only ever believed it when the Major said it."

"I don't…I don't know how to start my life without him," I murmured, hating myself for saying these things out loud but not knowing how to stop, "The past few years have been like going through a fucking meat grinder and I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do now. None of it makes sense. Nothing feels _real_."

"You need time," he said with wisdom beyond his years, and I felt his words rumbling through his chest as I pressed my ear to just below his collarbone and tried to ignore _everything _else, "It'll get better. With time, a little distance," he paused thoughtfully, "and maybe a shrink. 'Cause I'm pretty sure no one can go through what you have without cracking right down the middle."

"I don't need a goddamn _shrink_," I hissed, knowing it was a lie, "I need _him_. I don't care if this is PTSD or survivor's guilt or whatever some fucking doctor wants to call it – I'd give up my life for his in a _heartbeat_."

"And I'm pretty damn sure he'd say the same thing if he could," James said, stepping back from me and looking me straight in the eyes as he held me firmly by the shoulders. All at once I remembered the aftershock of Ashley's death. How Kaidan had told me I couldn't be so willing to sacrifice myself without accepting that others might feel the same way, that my own squadmates might have their own wishes, their own independent desires to put everyone else before themselves. I'd always thought that _it had to be me_, but then everyone was the protagonist of their own story. Everyone had thoughts and dreams and emotions that they thought no one else in the world could possibly share.

I tried to explain that idea to James using clumsy words peppered with curses, and I thought having someone else understand would make me feel better, but it didn't. I'd never been great at dealing with my emotions, and the only person that had ever been able to really, _really_ make me feel better was lying in a coma.

Vega came to see me two days later, twelve days in total since I'd woken up, over a month since Kaidan had been under. He'd been released and was leaving, shipping out to a base near his hometown to help with the rebuilding efforts. It would be a little while yet before the N7 Academy was back up and running, but James hated to be idle. I used to hate it too, but here I was, probably healthy enough to leave, and I was still sitting on that bench, staring out to sea, watching the sun sink below the horizon.

Once, the thought passed through my mind that maybe it would have been better if Kaidan had just been killed. If I had to be alive, if I couldn't be with him, I'd rather it be a clean break, push the bullet through, deal with the pain, and move on, because _anything_ would be better than this…this _stasis_. This uncertainty. I couldn't grieve for someone that wasn't dead yet, but I couldn't be comforted by someone that couldn't speak, someone that might slip away at any moment. I couldn't believe that when I'd woken up I'd thought things were too good to be true, when in reality I'd stumbled into a living hell, a scenario ripped straight from all of my worst nightmares – emotions I couldn't deal with, a battle that couldn't be won, an enemy I couldn't fight.

When James had gone and the shuttle had left and I'd had enough of staring at the sun's reflection on the sea like a fucking war widow, I sat back on the bench by the sand and a decision came to me, clear as the cloudless sky.

I had to get out of here. Not just for my own self-respect, not just for my sanity, but for everyone else out in the world wondering what the hell had happened to Commander Shepard. I was never very good at knowing what was best for myself, or at acting on it even if I _did_ know, but one thing I was definitely good at was turning off my personal life and thoughts and just assuming the mantle of the legendary, ruthless Commander instead. Anything was better than moping around here, praying for some kind of miracle even though I knew no one was listening.

Standing up, I stretched out my limbs, testing their strength, seeing if any of them still carried the dull ache of torn muscles, and I found that with a few exceptions I was practically back to normal. Sure, I needed a few days of fitness training and some time at the gun range to make sure my reflexes were all there, but luckily _that_ was my idea of a holiday. I couldn't take a _real_ holiday, something with a beach or restaurants or late mornings, _shore leave_, because I couldn't remember how to do that and enjoy it without Kaidan right there with me. So…I just wouldn't give myself a chance to think about it. I'd get away from here. I'd fill my time with other things, and whatever happened…would just happen. And I'd deal with it. I'd find the strength by myself.

What had Thane said? No fears, no responsibilities, a _good end to a life_. I didn't have any fears left. Not really, because in my heart they'd all but come true. As for responsibilities, well...I could pick and choose those as I liked, now. No one would ask any more from me. They couldn't.

Still, part of me wanted to hold tight to this grief and revel in it. Just because it was easier than confronting the harsh reality of the world I lived in now. I watched the sun vanish below the horizon, and I knew that I couldn't leave until the next day at least. Maybe…maybe I'd just say goodbye. I'd been spending less and less time at his bedside, not just because his mother was often there but because I was trying to get used to the idea that I couldn't always be near him after so long of sleeping by his side. She had a late shift, though, so I doubted I'd be disturbed. I went to his room, the staff ignoring me as I moved through the place, and I slipped inside the door, locking it just as I always did when I wanted to be alone. The place was quiet but for his heartbeat measured out in the blips on the machine's display. I sat on the bed, my hips just touching his, and took his hand in mine. It felt just as heavy and cold as before, though the cuts across his knuckles had healed now. I kissed his palm, grateful that only one of his arms was attached to a bundle of sensors and IV drips so I could have the other all to myself.

"James is gone," I said, having long since moved past feeling stupid for talking to an unresponsive room, "which means it's just you and me left from the Normandy. And…I guess I'll be going soon as well. It's not because I don't want to stay here, you know, it's because…I can't. You'd understand. It's too hard, and I'm not helping anyone by staying, especially not myself. I know it's different, but I think maybe this is a little like how you felt after Alchera. Only…back then there wasn't any question about me ever coming back – you _knew_ I was gone. You could grieve and try to get over it but I…can't do either of those things. All I can do is…try to keep going. That's what you'd want, right? You'd want me to not give up, not even when things were at their worst. You wouldn't want me to focus on the fact that you broke your fucking promise. You…wouldn't want me to keep beating myself up for being the reason you're lying here."

I cleared my throat, a prickle running up my nose, "but…it's hard. And you're the only one I can really talk to about it, even if you can't talk back." His chest rose and fell, eyes peaceful in sleep. He looked so…so _warm_. So alive, even though he was still out cold. The marks around his neck and face had practically healed already. He looked almost _healthy_. But there was still no change. No indication that he wouldn't slip away in his sleep any day. I...didn't know if I wanted to be there when it happened. I didn't know what would be worse.

"I miss you," I whispered, "I miss falling asleep next to you, and the way you…you'd treat me like I was the most important thing in your world. I– I miss waking up and finding you'd moved the blanket so I wouldn't get cold. I miss how...how you'd smile when you got embarrassed, like...like you were always in on the joke. It's…all the little things I miss the most."

My eyes fell to the space beside him, and an idea I'd had before suddenly seemed irresistible. It was stupid, pointless, and I knew it would only hurt more in the end, but I could deal with that later. I'd already decided in my head that I was going to leave here soon, so it didn't matter. It wouldn't become a habit. It would just be…comforting. One last thrill. I pushed aside all logic, lifted his arm, and eased my smaller body into the bed beside him. It was narrow, and there wasn't really space for the both of us, but if he was uncomfortable he could damn well wake up and _say _so. I exhaled, melting into the position I'd been in so many times before, nuzzling into the crook of his arm, loving _everything_ about the way he felt, even the scratch of his new beard on my forehead. When I closed my eyes, it was almost like nothing had changed. It was almost like it was a month ago and we were lying in bed together with the mission still ahead, the Reapers still obliterating our troops day by day.

"Do you remember?" I asked quietly, feeling his heartbeat through his chest and hearing it on the monitors a split second later, "all the stuff we said back then? It feels like a different world. It's like…it's like I made it all up because no one knows except me and you, and you can't be here to tell me it actually happened. When I was talking about getting an apartment, you know, something big and flashy and totally impractical, I...hope you know that I only wanted it if you could promise you'd be there too. And you _did_. I asked you if you'd be there, and you said _always_. Like there was nothing in the world that could stop you, not…not even me being a total dick to you all the time. I'm sorry about that too, by the way. I wanted to make it up to you when this was all over, but I don't know if I'll get the chance now. I just…I guess I just want you to know that I _realise_ I went a little crazy towards the end, and that I'm hard to deal with at the best of times and that you deserve some kind of medal for putting up with my shit. And…"

I breathed him in. He smelled strange, still like himself but without the lingering heat of gunfire or the sharpness of his biotics. It wasn't right. "…and this is the point where you're supposed to chip in with a few words that make everything okay," I whispered, my voice cracking, "This is where you're supposed to tell me it'll all be okay, because you know I'll never believe it unless it comes straight from you. Unless you say it to my face."

I closed my eyes, shifted my position, and tried to take comfort in the fact that his arm around me was still warm, still alive even though he wasn't moving. I'd hate myself for this later, when I woke up in the stark, unforgiving daylight and saw that I was cuddling up to a man in a coma, but it was just so nice to pretend. Just for a little while. That's all we'd ever done together – pretend it was okay, pretend we could get through it all if we only held on tight enough to one another.

"_Please come back,_" I mouthed the words I couldn't say because my breath was stuck, buried by sadness, "_please just...come back."_

Tomorrow I'd leave. I'd restart my life, I'd make it all_ my _choice this time – no one else's. I'd do what was expected of me and maybe, in time, I'd learn to find joy again.

But for now, for tonight, I had _this_. I held him to me, ignoring the whirring of machines, the sterility of the room, and I let my mind wander back to a time when we'd been awake, alive, _together_, and a bright future had been just one battle away.

oOoOoOo

_Kaidan_

The breaths I drew in felt colder suddenly, more _real_, though focusing on any one thing was like shining a torch into a thick, dark fog.

Was I still dreaming? It felt like I'd had hundreds of dreams, all deep and vivid but also…empty. Like they were meaningless I couldn't remember any of them. I couldn't remember much of _anything_.

I focused on what it felt like to breathe. I could almost hear the sound of the air itself, and above it something sharper, more regular, like the ticking of a clock.

I was awake, I realised. I was awake and the dreams were flowing from my mind like sand through fingertips, and I was trying to remember where I was, what I'd been doing, but it was all…a haze. Hell, even my _name_ would be a start.

It took all the effort I could muster to crack my eyes open, heavy from sleep, and they burned as the low lights of early morning pierced through the blackness. It was all blurry, but at least I knew I was in bed. And…maybe it was whatever drug had sedated me, but somehow I felt safe. Content. I breathed in again, and I caught that scent, the one that had woven through my dreams like a trail I could never quite follow, a hint at something important I couldn't put my finger on. I couldn't figure out what it was, something like vanilla and warm spices and the sharp sweetness of aniseed, something that made me feel like…like everything was alright in the world.

It was only then I felt something warm and solid curled up close.

I glanced down, my eyes aching with the effort, and by my shoulder I saw a mass of short, velvety black hair, a white robe, and a pale arm lying over my ribs. Something inside me twisted, strained behind the walls of fog with a memory I couldn't place. I couldn't remember anything about her, all I knew was the sight of her made me want to smile. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, draw her closer and never let her go, but I couldn't. My arms weren't responding, and every time I tried to move my entire body seemed to tense up in rebellion and refuse to respond. For some reason, though, I didn't mind. I breathed in her hair, the smell of her skin, and I didn't care about the fact that I couldn't move and couldn't remember and couldn't _think_.

My eyes fell shut, the fog forcing them closed, but as I slipped away I could feel her there, solid and real, and at last my lips draw up into a smile.

oOoOoOo

I was forced awake, pulled from the heavy fog around my brain by a shout, pressure on my face, my arms – I could feel my arms, that was a plus – my shoulders, my hands.

"You moved," I heard a ragged voice, loud and urgent, cutting through the haze, "I _felt_ you move, I know I did, I'm not crazy, you—you—"

I gathered enough strength to grimace with the pain of being woken up, and the noise stopped, the pressure relaxed, and when I listened all I could hear was hushed, rapid breathing.

"Oh my god," she whimpered, the sound muffled as though she was talking through a wall, "oh my fucking _god_, you're…I'm…oh god…"

My eyes strained when I tried to open them, and I squeezed them shut as bright sunlight blared through the window. A groan rumbled in the back of my throat, my face waking up as I winced against the light.

"Shit, the window," she said, still sounding a little hysterical, "I'll just…um…I'll…" shade fell over me like a cool blanket, and when I opened my eyes I saw the blinds had been closed, and next to them stood the woman from…from a dream? From the night before? It was all so…

She clapped her hands over her mouth again, her eyes wide and frantic and shining with tears. "Oh my god," I heard her whimper again, and I…had never felt more confused in my life. There was a thick haze flooding my mind, closing it off against rational thought and memories, and still I felt half asleep, but at the sight of her standing there something clicked, throwing itself against my mental blocks, and I couldn't think, could barely _see_ but I knew that she was important. More than that, my mind insisted, she was…she was _everything_. She was all that filled my head. The shape of her face, her wide, piercing eyes, her voice that was filled with so much pain that I would do _anything_ to stop if only I could just remember how to move and think and…

"Jena." I didn't know where it'd come from, how I'd even formed the word, but it croaked out anyway, and all at once images flooded my mind of the first time we'd met, the first time I'd caught her scent, our first kiss, the _thousands_ after that, me saving her life, her saving mine so many times, clinging onto each other against all odds, through _everything_, fighting for our lives, for a chance to be together, the first time I'd told her that I was in love with her, that I'd _never_ let her go.

She heard her name, choked on a sob, stumbled over and climbed on my bed, taking my head in her hands, kissing my face, my eyes, my lips, the dampness of her hot tears forcing life back into my dry skin. I murmured it again, because this was an anchor, something I knew was real, and moment by moment other memories were firing into life, connecting the dots between whatever had happened before I'd found myself here, and the present moment, the _reality_ of feeling her warm skin brushing over my cheek.

"You remember?" she asked, her face inches from mine, lit up with hope and fear all mingled together, "you remember me? Us?" I stared into her amber eyes, thick black lashes damp and clumped together, skin flushed, scars bright, and I wondered how in the hell I could ever _forget_. I wanted to tell her all that, but my mouth could barely move. I settled for an affirmative groan, a slight nod of my head with a neck that felt so _stiff_, and the bright smile that spread across her face was like the sun bursting through thunderclouds. A laugh bubbled out of her, as though it had been locked up for years and had only just escaped.

"Do—do you remember anything else? How you got here?" she asked, her voice still sounding a little frantic, like she was trying to remain calm even though her thoughts were racing. I gave the barest shake of my head. "The war's over," she said simply, "We won. You're in a hospital."

The war? The idea seemed familiar, like it should be linked up to something real and urgent, but I couldn't think.

I was in a hospital. That explained the machines beeping away in the background. That explained the ugly bedding and her white robe and the fact that I still couldn't _move_.

"Mm," I tried, my lips sluggish, my voice cracking, "…m I…okay?" Her eyes creased with a smile, even as her lips twisted with pain and sadness, and she nodded, looking like she was about to break down in front of me.

"Yeah," she replied breathlessly, her voice tight and strained, "yeah I think you are. I think you'll be okay."

I had so many questions lining up in my mind, like what the _hell_ happened? Why can't I move? How did I get here? But then I saw her face crumple, saw her looking at me like she was half expecting me to melt away if she stopped holding on so tight, her powerful body folding into itself, and there was suddenly another question that was far more important.

"You…okay?" I managed, I forced feeling back into my muscles with every movement, but it all still felt…sluggish, like I was weighed down. The words seemed to shake her out of her trance, and she rubbed her face as she nodded, taking a deep breath and looking right at me as though trying to compose herself. And then the corners of her mouth twitched, that perfect smile of hers lit up her face, and I wished more than anything that I could smile back.

"Yeah," she said simply, and I took it at face value. The rest of it didn't matter, her smile told me. Nothing else mattered. She was here, she was alive, _I_ was alive, and everything else would work itself out. I just knew it.

She cleared her throat, giving my hand a squeeze as she sat back down on the bed, shifting so she could be closer. "Better now."

**Chapter 34: Afterlife** – Months have passed since the Reaper War was won, but the long road to recovery is bumpier than expected and carries challenges of its own.

**A.N. **I sketched out a few different endings for this story, and this one was the nicest. I thought at the start that it would be _too_ nice and convenient, and I fully intended to go with one of the worse scenarios – one of them dying, Kaidan waking up with no memory of Shepard, you name it – but after writing the rest of this fic and after finishing Mass Effect 3 more than once since then, I decided that if there's one thing Shepard _deserves _it's a happy ending. Bioware couldn't hack it, so it's up to fanfiction! The next chapter will be a reworking of the Citadel DLC, because honestly it functions much better as post-game content, so if you haven't played it yet then spoilers abound!


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